


Pas de trois

by sparklingdali, thecrystalmadness



Category: Ogniem i Mieczem | With Fire and Sword (1999), Trylogia | The Trilogy - Henryk Sienkiewicz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Enemies to Lovers, Exes to Lovers, Multi, Power Imbalance, Self-Hatred, Substance Abuse, Älternate Universe - Warszawa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-07-27 03:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 85,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16210388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklingdali/pseuds/sparklingdali, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrystalmadness/pseuds/thecrystalmadness
Summary: Helena Kurcewiczóvna was born over three hundred years later in a country that wasn't much of a kingdom falling from grace as a republic desperately trying to regain its democracy.She lived in a completely different society where a woman's main goals weren't to keep her chastity and find a proper husband to be a good wife to. The steppe couldn't be further from her home when she walked on the streets of Warszawa.But some things stayed the same. And she still loved to dance.





	1. why ballet in the first place

**12 years ago**

 

It took a while till they arrived at the house of the Kurcewiczs because Wasyl was slowing them down, stopping to point out various crosses atop church rooftops with an excitement that went beyond understanding. His brothers were, however, completely accustomed to it by now.

“He always does this,” said Symeon a little defensively but neither him or Mikołaj complained, they just looked deadly bored. Bohun didn’t understand half of what Wasyl was talking about because his appreciation of churches began and ended with a hazy memory of one with round domes coated in gold that he must have seen in Kiev as a child. When looking at them now he mostly only felt relief he was no longer forced to go to masses like in the children’s home.

“We will just have to wait for him,” continued Symeon with a side look that spoke volumes. Bohun felt almost offended, as he was never rude towards Wasyl and actually helped Mikołaj beat a few guys at school for making fun of him. But Symeon was fourteen, two years older than them, tasked with the thankless job of trying to pull his brother through basic education. Being in the same class with him and having to listen to snarky remarks on his brother’s intelligence only increased his protectiveness. Bohun knew Wasyl should have been going to high school by now, though he couldn’t really determine his age.

Wasyl finally stopped blabbering about the difference between the rib vault and the fan vault so they resumed walking. In some time they reached the Rozłogi Street, after which the whole neighborhood took a name. Bohun could see this was a much better looking place than the one he was living in with his foster parents. They passed small villas with neatly mowed lawns, surrounded by tall white gates and expensive looking cars, that gleamed in the afternoon sun, although none of them could rival Burłaj’s proudly displayed old broken _Polonez_ in the backyard. Bohun never realized that the Kurcewiczs were kind of rich and suddenly felt out of place in his hand-me-down clothes and shoes, of which he was already the third owner.

“Byahvyou to our royal estate,” said Mikołaj in bad imitation of French when they reached a cube-like modern house with a huge steel gate that one could almost admire for its unapologetic ugliness. “Jean, don’t just stand there, open the door for our most esteemed guest.”

Bohun laughed while Symeon rolled his eyes and pressed a chip on his key-chain to a blinking box on the pillar. The gate suddenly opened. Despite Mikołaj’s jokes the camera at the top of the gate still made him feel like he was infiltrating the place. He wondered why they had such big security here. Bohun followed them along the stepping-stone path with a wide grin, admiring the trees lining it, branches bent under the weight of the cherries.

They played with a ball for a while in the playground behind the house, enjoying the warm weather. Wasyl was clearly dominating the game, being the fastest and biggest of them. Despite Bohun’s many attempts to catch up to him and retake the ball for his team, he didn’t succeed even once.

He barely remembered the last time he felt so carefree and... normal. He liked Burłaj but there were too many children in his house. The older kids rarely did anything else in their free time beside trying to sneak out for a smoke and a few drinks, which Bohun found quite boring. The only one with whom he formed a fragile bond was Horpyna and she was a huge weirdo.

He recalled the first time he met her, being bored out of his mind and lying atop Burłaj’s car. A scraping sound woke him from brooding. He cracked one eye open and saw a shadow of a gangly girl with messy hair.

There was something unsettling about her and the dark glint in her almost unaturally green eyes only added to the menacing impression. Years spent in the children’s home honed his fight or flight reflex (being no coward he mostly went with fight) and his senses were telling him this older girl was not to be messed with.

“Looks like old Burłaj went looking for stray cats again, huh? Aren’t you adorable,” she cooed.

“Who the fuck are you?” Annoying right from the start, Bohun thought.

“Haven’t learned how to say hello?”

“Hello, bitch.”

She laughed. “My, my, such refined manners. Pray tell, were your parents junkies or filthy pedos?” she asked as if this was a perfectly normal thing to talk about. Bohun, thought he had seen a lot in his life, couldn’t find any response to that.

“Have you met Big Foot already?”

“Yeah, I did. I don’t like him.”

“Perfect. You have a nose for sniffing out the bastards. Wanna put spiders in his bed?”

Bohun looked up with interest, but cautiously stopped himself and asked.

“Why do you need me for this? Afraid of spiders?”

“Excuse you, I love them”, she said mock offended. “But I can’t actually put them there, he would immediately know it was me.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“No. I will do it. But I want something in return.”

“And that would be?”

“Never call me adorable again.”

Horpyna cackled.

“Deal.”

Big Foot’s shrieking was to this present day still a fond memory.

“Let’s go inside and change. Dinner is in about an hour and Mother will be displeased if we’re not prepared,” Mikołaj said dramatically.

They lead him inside the house. Bohun didn’t have much time to look around, as they quickly dragged him upstairs in front of the bathroom.

“You go shower first, Stinklord, we have to settle something.”

Mikołaj ignored Bohun’s indignant huff and laughed. Just before he shut the door, Bohun caught a glimpse of him clenching his fist into a ball hovering above a flat palm.

“And don’t you dare to cheat again, Wasyl,” was the last thing he heard until he stopped paying attention.

Bohun showered quickly since he didn’t want to get yelled at for wasting water. He dried himself with his dirty clothes, unsure of which towel to use, and put on the shorts and the t-shirt in which he went to Hopak after school. He passed Symeon on his way out who had obviously won their little game.

“You can watch TV in the kitchen if you want. Mikołaj and Wasyl were blathering on about some stupid reality show,” Symeon said with disgust and closed the door behind him.

Bohun only knew he had to take the stairs to get where they came from, but the moment he ended up on the ground floor he was completely lost. No matter, hide and seek was his specialty. Granted, he mastered mainly the 'hide' part, but his life had always been full of obstacles waiting to be overcome. He cracked his knuckles and promptly turned right into the dimly lit corridor. Soldering on, he passed a few old paintings in golden frames depicting little girls in white dresses watched by a man playing a violin. Slowly, he noticed music at the edge of his consciousness which Bohun definitely wouldn't peg as typical for 'a stupid reality show'

His suspicions turned right when Bohun found himself in the doorway of a mirror-clad room, lit by brilliant white lights that were almost blinding in comparison to the soft yellow lamps in the corridor. Shielding his eyes and blinking a few times, he glanced dow and noticed he was not alone. In the middle of the room stood a girl that couldn’t have been much younger than him. She was holding her leg up straight, showing off the bright pink legwarmers.

She didn’t stay there for long. As if on command, she spun around and made an elaborate jump. Bohun immediately noticed that despite leaping so high her landing was smooth and her legs didn’t buckle at all. She started spinning again and then made several deliberate steps on her toes towards the handrail where she went on to do a sequence of movements that looked complicated at first but the more he watched her the more he recognized the individual moves flowing after each other in seamless transition. It was captivating and while he didn’t think about it in those words, the elegance and the beauty of what he saw completely enchanted him. It reminded him, out of all things, of his mother, walking on an upturned bench and swinging her leg, jumping and landing, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

When the music faded softly away, he shouted: “That was really good!”

The girl turned her head towards him abruptly, dark eyes wide almost as if in fear. What was she afraid of, thought Bohun with amusement as he slowly walked towards her. 

“How did you do it? Like this?” He executed the standing split with a grunt, showing off a little. Most people couldn’t do what he did, even if he got a lot worse at it since he had stopped training with his mom. Stretching while brushing his teeth in the morning or doing headstands and flips to freak out his roommates really didn’t cut it. He glimpsed at his reflection in the mirror, grimacing inwardly. His slightly trembling figure was far from the girl's easy poise.

He decidedly let his leg down and turned back to her. “I haven’t even told you my name! I’m Jurko. You’re the cousin, right? “

She did look nothing like the Kurcewicz brothers who all had dirty blond hair and were pretty fair skinned in comparison to her.

“I’m Helena,” she said a little defensively. She turned away and resumed practicing. Was she disappointed he didn't know her name?

He began to slowly imitate her dance routing. Helena narrowed her eyes at him, unsure if he was mocking her or seriously attempting to follow her dancing. Soon a small smile appeared on her face and only grew wider when she saw his reflection in the mirror as he tried to do a pirouette and ended up feeling dizzy.

Helena looked like she wanted to say something a few times and now she finally gathered the courage.

“Alright then. First position, put your feet apart like this.” Her voice quivered at first, but as she continued talking, obviously knowing a lot about ballet, it changed and Helena recited the positions in a decisive, loud voice, actually reminding him of one of his despotic teacher’s at school.  It would probably annoy him if she weren’t like ten, making the whole affair amusing instead, especially since she liked to use weird French words.

“Now second position, third position. Put your arm a little higher, yes, you’re doing great,” she clapped enthusiastically. “Fourth position aaand…fifth position!”

He thought that he more or less managed to do everything she told him to. They went through the basic positions for a while but it started to bore him a little.

“Also what about this?” He furrowed his eyebrows and attempted to stand on his toes. His ankles gave out immediately at first, not used to balancing his center like that, and he fell down rather spectacularly. Helena snickered. Grinning, he immediately stood up to give it another try. This time he persisted for all of three seconds. Helena’s snickers turned into a full-belly laughter. Bohun was positively radiating with glee, her giggling only making him want to try harder.

“We should try the pirouettes. You need special shoes for pointe, they have hard soles to help you stand on your toes. Also it’s mostly for girls.”

“How come you don’t have shoes like that then?”

“You aren’t allowed to start too early because it damages your feet,” Helena explained seriously. “But I will be getting them in a year and half!” She turned on place, excited.  “Now the pirouette!” The tone of her voice changed again into a command. She ran towards him, showing him what to do with his feet.

“You put you foot here,” her fingertip went into the notch at the top of her knee. “And stand really straight. Like somebody just jabbed you in the ribs.”

“Please don’t do that,” Bohun was standing upright on one of his legs, perfectly balanced but obviously concentrating very hard to be so.

“Like when I showed you how to do plies, you need to keep your balance there,” she said while putting hands on her hips. “And then you turn into the fourth position.”

Helena watched him with wide eyes as he imitated her. She then continued to show him how to position his arms and demonstrated the pirouette several times while he watched.

“Also remember you are not trying to go around but up,” she said but Bohun was no longer listening, spinning on the spot, at first in disjointed fashion and stopping a few times, but gradually getting closer to executing the pirouette.

It was harder than it seemed. He stopped after a while, yet still seeing the room spin madly in front of his eyes and flailing his arms in a desperate attempt to not fall down.

“Oh, I forgot!” Helena covered her mouth. “You need to keep your eyes on the spot otherwise you will get sick.”

Bohun held hands over his face, thinking for a second he might really be, but then he only ran his fingers through his overgrown hair. “I think I will do it with closed eyes for a bit.”

When he lifted his leg and started spinning, Bohun finally felt like he got it. Somehow, it seemed easier with closed eyes.

“You are really good,” the awe in her voice prominent. “I can’t believe you are picking this up so fast. Did you ever do ballet before? Maybe when you were little? I started at four!”

Bohun, terribly proud that he managed to learn the pirouette, made a few more attempts. This was exactly just as much fun as it looked, he thought. When he finally stood with both legs on the ground, tired, there was a small smile on his face.

“No. But I will show you what I did.”

Bohun went still and sized the amount of space in front of him. He jumped on his hands, did a handspring, then immediately pushed himself off with his legs again in the air, stopping at a head stand. There he turned his eyes toward Helena who was clapping her hands excitedly and smiling.

“You are a gymnast!”

Bohun put his feet back to the ground, wiping his hands. “Not anymore, but I used to be. I just do  _hopak_  now with-”

He suddenly stopped. In the door stood an older woman with a stern face and long blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail. Seeing him freeze, Helena turned to face the woman, who in return gave Helena a reproachful look. Bohun decided this must be her aunt.

“Is this what you call practice, young lady?” she scolded her. Then she turned her icy gaze towards Bohun.

“I’m sorry, madame,” Helena said without looking up, sounding dejected.

—-

Kurcewiczóvna was a witness to a scene she didn’t prepare herself for. Helena had a terrible tendency to just dance whatever she wanted to when left alone which she could at least forgive but there were times when she found her still stretching over some book half an hour after she should have been already dancing. And now apparently forsaking ballet altogether over playing gymnastics with some friend her boys brought from school.

“And who are you?” she turned towards the boy who was staring at her with almost open mouth. But he quickly recovered:

“It’s Bo-hun. Hello,  _madam_ _e_ _,_ ” he for some reason bowed and gave her a cheeky grin. “I came with Mikołaj.”

After a long pause Kurcewiczóvna said slowly in an absolutely unimpressed voice: “Hello.”  She was wondering where her sons picked up this insolent brat. “Would you excuse us for a moment? Why don’t you go play with Mikołaj?” she asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Helena, who was until now biting her lip to not laugh at her, became very somber, suddenly trying to act like the perfect image of an obedient and respectful pupil.

“But we  _were_  practicing ballet before. I was teaching him basic positions and how to do a pirouette. Here, please show her!” she turned with pleading eyes to Bohun. “He’s really good,” she whispered.

Bohun got into first position with an inner grace not possessed by many in his age, eyeing her expectantly, almost challenging. Kurcewiczóvna saw the determination on his face and while she was this close to telling the boy to get lost, something in that look made her change her mind.

“Very well. If you want to show me something, lets put on some music first,” she said with a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. Helena was already scrambling towards the CD player.

“Put on the little swans we did yesterday.” Kurcewiczóvna had to halt Helena’s another attempt at having her listen to Giselle. That girl sure was obsessed, even though she should have been preparing for the upcoming performance and not wheedling out of her a new costume for a ballet she at this point had no chance of dancing in.

Bohun was just standing there awkwardly in the meanwhile, scratching his ankle with the other leg. Kurcewiczóvna thought she will at least get some low entertainment out of this if nothing else.

She was proven wrong. He didn’t even wait for instructions when the music started playing and just went straight to the basic ballet positions. Bohun’s moves were unpolished for sure, but what he lacked in precision he made up for with enthusiasm. It was quite a joy to watch him because even when he made a mistake his relaxed expression didn’t change. This was a complete opposite of Helena who after any misstep bit her lip painfully no matter how many times she reprimanded her for it.

Even more striking was the way his movements connected with music. Musicality was a huge part of being a ballet dancer and while technique could be learned, hearing well and reacting appropriately to what your ears processed was the core. Helena was good at this too but she thought too much during dancing and her concentration could easily break.

When the boy started doing pirouettes, it was obvious he only just began to learn them so she stopped him after a while.

Overall she was impressed. He even danced with a certain dramatic flair, Kurcewiczóvna thought with a hidden smile and asked Bohun, who was trying to catch his breath at the moment:

“You said you were Bohun. And your last name?”

“That’s my last name. I’m Jurko Bohun.”

“Which school are you going to?”

“Copernicus Middle School.”

Kurcewiczóvna rolled her eyes. “What dancing school do you belong to? Who is teaching you ballet?”

“I’m not doing ballet. I only do traditional.”

“And you never did it before?”

“No.”

She stayed silent for a while and then, as if she suddenly remembered something, she ordered sharply: “Let’s go eat dinner. Practice is over.”

—

Later that night while on her way to the bathroom, Helena heard her aunt talking on the phone with someone. She stopped abruptly and listened, thinking she heard something about a great talent. A small hope rose in her heart. Maybe aunt was talking about her?

“I understand you’re skeptical, but wait until you see him. He has a certain…  _je ne sais quoi_. No experience at all, my sons brought him home from Hopak.”

Silence. Saddened, Helena realized they must be talking about Jurko.

“Alright, but I can guarantee you’ll regret this. I wouldn’t be surprised if Chmielnicki got his claws in him eventually. You know how he likes to take an interest in street rats.”

The silence went for a little longer now.

“Okay, I will send him to you next week.” Helena couldn’t see her face but she knew her aunt was smiling. She remembered her smug face from the many pictures of her holding golden medals and flower bouquets. Just as Helena was quietly scuttling away, she heard:

“You too. And please do try to be nice to him, would you,  _J_ _a_ _rema_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here is an illustration for this chapter.](http://thecrystalmadness.tumblr.com/post/178148987875/youre-a-gymnast-an-illustration-to-the-first)
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> 
> I would like to give huge thanks to [am_fae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/am_fae/pseuds/am_fae) and [LucyLovecraft ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucyLovecraft/pseuds/LucyLovecraft)whose  conversations on tumblr got me into the fandom in the first place and whose works were huge inspiration. Please, if you want to read a really good fic about Ogniem i Miecziem, go check those two out.


	2. audition for the sword ballet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music in this chapter [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GuMzYleEPRE&t=164s).

 

The year 2017 was a weird one and full of ominous signs that couldn't mean anything good for the future. Extreme heat and cold waves swept Europe that year, various acts of terrorism were committed from Saint Petersburg to Manchester, and in America the real estate mogul Donald Trump became president.

In Warsaw, however, it was a year like any other.

 

-

Jan Skrzetuski was looking at the monumental building of the Polish National Theater, lightened up in the night, his heart filled with pride and almost inextinguishable excitement. He simply stood there, breathed in the cold night air, pleasant after sweating his insides out in the hot August weather, and listened to the cars making their way on the roundabout nearby.

When he looked at the gold light that emerged from it he felt a little lighter, his heart beating a little faster, as if he was about to go inside and perform in front of a fully sold out auditorium, being sure that he will hear a loud applause at the end, asked to come back to bow to them again and again, feeling that high of being adored and loved for who he was. When those good feelings were replaced by longing, he turned his back towards the theater and began walking.

Even though he had the approximate idea where to look, it proved to be quite a challenge to find the pub, being hidden from tourists in a rather less known street nearby. The entrance was still in one of the old buildings, however if you stood outside and looked around, you would mostly notice the identical gray apartments built during the communist era. After the war, most of Warsaw laid in ruin so it was not unusual to find a very old and beautiful architecture as Teatr Wielki close to something so uniquely bland and modern like the blocks of flats Jan was staring at now.

He finally spotted a small sign stating DUPOL in capital letters above a heavy looking opened door. A chalkboard was propped up against the ornamented facade advertising 'premium Romanian wines'. Jan had to lower his head to pass through the door, careful not to bump into the door frame. He walked downstairs, holding tightly onto the iron handrail as steep stone steps took him into a basement.

Even thought the small windows were at a level with the pavement, the inside was actually very spacious, wooden tables on one side and a few leather club chairs placed around low coffee tables on the other, the place more than half full before seven at Thursday, enough proof this was a popular spot. Michal had this conviction he already took Jan there once few years back but he had no memory of seeing this place before.

He looked around the room, trying to decide if this resembled more an early twentieth century doomed artist's lair or a hipster bar. Soon Jan spotted Michal, being until now obscured from the view by one of his companions. He occupied the sitting area with two other older men, one slightly younger with a long blond hair tied into a ponytail. Jan recognized the other man, huge in all proportions and sporting a mustache three times bigger than one Michal currently had, shouting something about tours in Istanbul.

"You literally said an hour ago that this happened in Moscow," complained Michal with annoyance but then he saw Jan and the frown on his face melted into a grin.

"JAN! COME HERE!" He jumped up immediately, pointing at free spot next to him.

"That was something else. But they were too right assholes the Russians and I didn't leave until showing them what is what."

"Seriously?" asked with astonishment the younger man with a ponytail.

 

"Hello everybody!" Jan finally arrived to their table.

"This is Jan Skrzetuski. He will be dancing in National Theater from Monday!" said Michal to the ponytail man who stood up too to shake hands with Jan.

"Then I'm very pleased to meet you. My name is-"

"Try to keep a straight face," the large man sitting next to Michal burst into a laugh. Jan frowned.

"- Longinus Podbipieta, guest choreographer for Polish National Ballet as of today," finished the man shaking his hand with a smile.

Jan grinned in return, pleased to meet any of his future colleagues and superiors, and partly because his name definitely was funny. Longinus, if he remembered anything form grammar school, meant 'tall' and Podbipieta was basically looming over Jan, who couldn't be by any chance called short.

"Pleased to meet you. Could you be the new choreographer overseeing the audition for Zerwikaptur on Monday?"

Longinus nodded. "That would be me."

"Aren't you going to introduce us too," grumbled the other man unhappily and Michal glared at him.

"You know Jan. You two had met like two years ago when you 'accidentally'," Michal made a face, "joined _Pride_."

Jan remembered that incident fondly. He and Michal, never attending before and thus not knowing what to expect, got precautionary drunk with their friends hours before the walk even started, running at a bar into a middle aged guy who kept telling them, with about the same level of sobriety they were on, how he once fought the Polish secret police and how brave they were to go to an event like that (in his words: 'almost as bold as me!').

After some hard convincing, claiming they would protect him from any protesters and confirming they still believe in Jesus, he joined them, having probably twice more fun than them, since he ended up on the podium dancing with the drag gueens and having a powerful speech about joining a protest against the communist regime in 1989. It could have been very moving if he weren't so obviously wasted and didn't imply it's time to overthrown the corrupt heterosexual government. Media of course ate that one right up and there was even a picture of him in the newspaper with Michal in the background looking like he will piss himself from laughter. Unlike Michal Jan was thankfully cut out of that image, being spared coming out as bisexual to half of his family and still be considered gay for many years to come.

"I remember you, Mister Zagloba. You became quite popular on the internet because of that."

Zagloba squinted and looked at Jan again, until his eyes finally widened in recognition.

"You were a Blondie back then, weren't you!? Trying to look like a bad boy with dying it black, aren't we? And it seems he is growing out a mean beard too! I take that back, we have a real man between us!"

Jan was absolutely embarrassed, scratching the stubble on his cheeks. "This is my natural color." After finally sitting next to Michal, he added: "And I can't really maintain a beard, that all needs to go away if you have to perform."

"For such a renowned ballet master you sure forgot a lot, hmm?" said Michal to Zagloba with a smirk.

"I have dedicated my life to teaching the young which is a thankless job of many sacrifices, something you with your leg swinging wouldn't be able to understand."

"Right. Of course. The future of Polish ballet lies in your hands," said Michal with irony clear in his voice.

"That's damn right and it's about time I receive some respect for that. Not all credit goes to Jeremi Wiśniowiecki whom I personally advised in some of his regiments and-"

Michal leaned towards Jan, ignoring Zagloba completely, and asked: "Did you get the flat?"

Jan, who was listening to Zagloba with entertained disbelief, crouched down a little.

"Yeah. It's actually not far from here"

"Do you remember the street?"

"Lubienska. I will show you around soon, don't worry," Jan patted him on shoulder.

"I know that one. There's a pool."

"Yeah," sighed Jan. "I could have a better one but here I would find less excuses for morning exercise."

"The never-ending fight."

"Tell me about it."

After this Jan got up and asked everyone what drinks they want. Zagloba ordered a specific brand of mead without any shame, Michal didn't even bother to ask for the 'usual' and Podbipieta, who was trying to put money into his hand, finally succumbed to accepting non-alcoholic bear from Jan, who was adamant that he is inviting him like everybody else. Zagloba was still making fun of him for it when he came back with the tray he graciously offered to carry himself while the barman ran towards new guests shuffling around impatiently at the other end of the bar.

"Thank you," interrupted Podbipieta Zagłoba's rant about the dangers of abstinence to the general population. "And no, it's nothing like that, I enjoy a glass of wine when I can and I know how to appreciate a good vodka. But I'm now on a creative strike during which I follow," there he made a poignant pause, "a special regime."

" _Na zdrowie_!" toasted Michal and drowned his shot in one go before Zagloba even had the chance to lift his glass.

"And what is this regime? Dying of thirst!?" he laughed boisterously but Jan was hanging on Podbipieta's every word, actually interested in the creative process and of course keen on learning more about the man who, according to Master's own words, specifically requested to work with him because he believed that only Wiśniowiecki could transfer this vision of his into reality.

"It's very simple actually. When you immerse yourself into the art of creation, your mind needs to stay absolutely clear. But at the same time you have to maintain concentration for longer periods because if an idea strikes you, there is absolutely no way you can stop in the middle because you are tired or have something better to do. You have to sacrifice in order to create something. I have used that regime for both of my previous works and I'm still following it while making Zerwikaptur."

Podbipieta went silent suddenly as if he didn't know how to continue.

Zagloba stared at him with an open mouth. "So what is it? I swear I'm so done with you artistic types, never knowing how to get to the point-"

"I exercise regularly, stop drinking alcohol," Podbipieta swallowed, "and what is actually the most important rule, I give up on absolutely all carnal desires for the whole time I'm in the creative process."

He eyed them questioningly, checking if they understood what he meant.

"How long have you been creating this Zerwikaptur?" asked Michal carefully.

"Since January. But the effects are devastatingly great. I have so much more energy now, there is no second-guessing of every piece I compose and I perceive everything more clearly, which you can imagine helps enormously in making a piece. You should definitely try it to see the benefits for yourself."

Michal was clearly fascinated by this idea. "And you are convinced that... that giving up on women makes you a better artist?"

Jan lowered his voice and said with a humor: "Come on. As if you could keep a girl alone..."

"It's not specifically about women." Podbipieta looked more and more embarrassed when he finally with some redness on his cheeks admitted in a whisper: "It's about not actually using it at all, if you know what I mean."

Zagloba, whose frown was getting more pronounced with Podbipieta's every word, let out an outraged huff. "So what are you trying to say? That you haven't jerked off since January?"

"I...yes. That's true."

"Impressive," said Jan with wide eyes.

"Idiotic," added Zagloba. "This is the most idiotic thing you said and God knows I have heard a lot from you this week."

"I think it's perfectly reasonable. And if I didn't do what I described we wouldn't be drinking here together at all," Podbipieta smiled in a conciliatory matter. Zagłoba's insults just slid of him like water.

"With giving up on women, I had thought you are some poor closet case trying to find an excuse."

Jan gave Zagloba, the most obviously closeted gay man he had ever known, a long look.

"But this… this is just a new level of stupidity."

Podbipieta was just shaking his head now. "Pity to talk with you about this."

"We are going to get another drink, right Jan?" asked Michal, already standing up. He followed him towards the bar, where they waited for the barman to notice them.

"Am I the only one who thinks he is doing that weird challenge from internet but has gotten it all terribly confused. Like... it's supposed to make you more attractive to women? And… aggressive?" Jan started to feel slightly ashamed that he knows so much about it because it definitely didn’t sound this ridiculous to him when he was sixteen.

"What? You mean that thing we did first year in high school?!" laughed Michal. "That were the two worst weeks of my life. I think I got into an actual fight with someone almost every other day."

"But he seems so collected and calm."

"You especially shouldn't try it again because back then you made Anusia think you were about to commit a suicide. God, you became so unbearable to be around that she made me promise her that I will bully you into getting some help."

Jan nearly toppled with laughter. "You traitor! You never said that to me before! I was just sick of playing those games of hers, I didn't mean to reject her.” He laughed again. “I guess she wasn't used to that!"

"I haven't told you because I was in love with her too at the time, remember? We got an official reprimand from the school principal for fighting in the middle of the canteen. Because you went on a date with her!"

"Yeah, I guess she was _very_ happy about my fast recovery from depression," grinned Jan and Michal hit him on the shoulder.

As Michal was ordering their drinks, Jan watched him quietly. His friend changed a lot since he moved to Warsaw and seemed happier, more sure of himself somehow. Jan had missed him a lot, thinking he was the only person in the whole world that truly understood him and whom he could tell anything.

Michal noticed he was staring at him and smiled. "We have to use this weekend to the fullest, if what you said about your training is true."

"Yeah, when the season starts I will probably have even less free time than back when you were leaving Krakow." Jan learned to accept that ballet doesn't leave a lot of space for social life a long time ago but now, finally re-united with his best friend, it out of sudden made him sad again. He didn't doubt that he will make friends in Pro Arte just like he did in Krakow but none of them would be Michal, that he was sure of.

"Well I'm glad you are finally here with me, so that's all that matters," grinned Michal and Jan laughed, hugging him.

"Okay," he said after he let him go. "Let's get colossally fucked up."

"That's the spirit," the barman grinned at them and handed them their drinks.

-

Jan didn’t sleep much the night before the Zerwikaptur audition but since Sunday was spent napping and doing light exercise to sweat out the last remains of alcohol from his body, he didn’t feel especially tired. There wouldn’t be a real opportunity to do anything like that with Michal for months, so Jan felt no regrets for the state he was in when he came home on Saturday afternoon.

And yet this odd feeling followed him for the rest of the weekend, a weird sense of uncertainty and worry that he believed had nothing to do with actual nervousness. More like as if he was forgetting something – something important. But after Jan checked his training bag for the fourth time he had to admit that if he won't break his legs walking the front stairs of the theater, there was nothing that could stop him from performing at his best, so with some relief he let the whole thing go.

The backstage area here in Warsaw was rather spacious and very different from the modern building he was used to in Krakow, where the girls gave him dirty looks for trying to squeeze by them in the hallways and scrunching their _paczki_. More fragile friendships were terminated over taking ones dressing room spots and God help those who were brave enough to say they thought the building pretty and functional. Yet Jan at this moment almost longed to be there right now, being waved at by his friends and wished luck in the audition with slightly strained smiles. He would have a chat with his old ballet master, or just go sit and stretch with the girls from the corps to find out who did what, who was with whom and most importantly gossip about the company and its leadership.

Here Jan didn’t even need that kind of talk, as he had all truly valuable information right from the source, which by the way wasn’t anywhere to be found at the moment. He tried to recognize some of the older faces but those who were present during his own mock audition into the company weren’t currently there and neither was Podbipieta whom he last saw on the verge of breaking and accepting a dance from one very drunk Zagloba.

Jan finally managed to get into one of the male dressing rooms. The men in front of him, all in a various state of undress, were looking at Jan questioningly, as if they were deciding if they should greet him or kick him out.

Finally a young man with hair dyed almost white walked towards him. “Marcel Bychowiec,” he offered him an outstretched hand, while holding his shirt in the other.

“Jan Skrzetuski,” said Jan after a second and before the other guys could introduce themselves, he asked: “Are you all from Pro arte vivas?”

“Of course we are!” Bychowiec said almost offended and Jan smiled.

 

“I just wanted to make sure I won’t be stabbed in the back by someone when I’m putting on my tights.”

They all laughed, apparently pleased he shared their distaste for the other dance company associated with the theater.

“New and already knows how it goes around here,” said the other man who could have been almost thirty. “Jan Poniatowski.”

“I’ve been apprentice to Wiśniowiecki for ages so I had it from the first account. If you ask me it’s a disgrace that he wasn’t re-appointed director in all this time.”

Poniatowski looked at him with curiosity now. “We have heard there will be someone new coming.”

“To replace -” said Bychowiec but didn’t finish and just exchanged a look with the third guy who didn’t introduce himself to Jan yet.

“Zenobius Skalski,” he waved lazily at Jan who suddenly experienced a strange sense of déjà vu. Something definitively was off.

He changed his clothes silently and then left the dressing room, wanting to find a quiet place to stretch and get ready. What was he supposed to remember? He was now convinced it had to have something to do with ballet, which was even bigger reason why he needed to remember it soon. But what was it? What the hell did he do when he left DUPOL’s with Michal? They went to see the river? Wait, that was on Friday. They actually returned the other day because Michal was looking for some kid who hangs around there and-”

Zenobius Skalski. Why did he keep returning to that guy? He was pretty unassuming, maybe older than him and of rather average looks that didn’t stand out in anything besides maybe him being slightly thinner than how usually male dancers were. Until this day Jan would have sworn he never saw this man before.

He was so deep in thought that he passed the classroom and wandered into what must have been a stage property room, filled with all kinds of junk, spare chairs and props. But as it was empty and spacious enough for him to warm up, he decided to stay and just make sure he doesn’t jeté into the giant black elephant cardboard statue over there.

Jan sat down in the corner and started doing basic warm up first, stretching both of his legs and arms, still trying to remember what happened between Thursday night and Saturday morning. Zenobius Skalski? No. Zenobius, Zenobius… Abdank? Abdanski? Jan had no idea who that could be or why his brain came up with such a name. Was this someone he had met? It was, wasn’t it? He thought he would call Michal afterwards to ask about it or it won’t let him sleep at night. Although it was dubious if Michal would remember more than him.

An older woman interrupted his thoughts by barging in, followed by a black haired girl in a leotard with a winter jacket over it and those ugly boots with wool inside to protect feet from the cold. Despite the ridiculous get up, so typical for ballet dancers, Jan forgot to close his mouth when he saw her. Neither woman realized he was in the room with them, Jan most likely being obscured by the African properties piled up right next to the door.

"So you think you have it in you already to dance the main role? You get the chance to understudy the Sugar Plum Fairy and suddenly you think that you are some big star?!"

"I can do it! I told you I can do it!" Her voice was pure desperation.

"First, you want to do the competition which you so terribly failed last year-”

"He was injured!” In this moment the girl noticed him standing there and closed her mouth, turning eyes downwards, looking embarrassed.

“No, don’t put the blame on other people! You danced as badly as him if not worse given you had no excuse. As I said, you think you can actually take a principal role in something and then compete at the same time? Despite proving that you can’t even do half of that last season? Or did you just think you will go to sleep and next day wake up a professional ballerina?”

Jan stood there awkwardly. He came here to warm-up in quiet, not to be a witness to family drama. But he already listen for too long and felt it would be stupid to just walk around the room and leave now. The girl was receiving such a dress-down that Jan thought this must be either her ballet mistress, mother or, and now that was a terrible thought, both.

He saw the piercing eyes of the woman, her harsh face strict and cold when looking at the person in front of her, as if nothing could disgust her more. The girl wasn’t even saying anything anymore, just staring back at the woman with outrage written in her features and trembling lips. Jan felt anger rising in his chest upon seeing this.

"Well this is only a half-baked contemporary by some foreign choreographer from God knows where. If you wish to waste your energy on something that might be in the last second taken out of the program, be my guest! And if you by some miracle do get it, it will be only because they don’t want to risk overworking the principals."

What made this woman so bitter? Jan felt personally offended by her words, thinking she must be from the Sicz to have such disdain for contemporary ballet. He thought of Podbipieta, who had two great ballets under his belt, and that it should be in fact an honor for their theater to be the place where he creates his third.

"Now cry, of course! This only proves you are not ready for it when you can't act like a professional.” She pointed a finger at her. “I'd like to see how Wiśniowiecki's opinion of you changes when he sees this."

With this the woman left, slamming the door, leaving the girl standing next to the African props with her hands curled into fist. She finally started taking off her shoes and jacket, wiping tears from her cheeks as she did so, and now Jan couldn't be silent any longer, couldn’t look at someone so lovely and let her be sad over such unjust and cruel insults. He already felt absolute dislike towards the older woman, hoping he will never have to work with her and having to tell her what exactly he thinks of this version of ‘tough love’.

He began walking towards the girl who just sat on the ground to begin stretching.

-

Helena’s head turned towards the guy who watched their little scene, wishing he would just finally go away and hopefully never speak of this with anyone. The chances were low, she wasn’t exactly stranger to the other dancers and even some new, unknown Sicz guy would definitely want to share that there were troubles in Jeremi’s supposed paradise.

"Sorry for listening in. But trust me, if someone treats you like that, they are not worth crying over.”

She had to lift her head to properly look at him. He was slim and so tall, he would be looming over her even if she were standing. But despite the intimidating height something in his face put her at ease. He had a tanned complexion, shorter black hair shaved close to his scalp on the sides as it was in fashion now and a short stubble. The boy crouched down to sit not far from her, mouth open to say something. Instead he ended up just staring at Helena, suddenly looking little lost.

"God, you are beautiful. I shouldn't... I shouldn't have sat this close."

Helena was used to various lines thrown at her, usually in situations like this when she only wanted to be left alone but the honest and slightly clueless expression on his face caused her to let out a weak laugh, wiping wetness from under her eyes.

"Really? Like this?"

"You completely threw me off. Now I don't know how to have a conversation,” he scratched his cheek and sat up straight, bringing the soles of his feet together. “I should probably shut up before I say something even more stupid."

Helena personally didn't think he looked that embarrassed, stretching his limbs instead while looking at her from under his eyelashes in well-timed moments to make it seem natural, as he worked on his arms. She knew when she was being ogled but he had such a way about him that it didn't actually bother her. That he was terribly good-looking didn't hurt either.

"You could tell me your name," she tried to smile but worried it must have come out forced. Helena slowly stood up and put a hand on a clothes rack with stuck rollers to serve her as a poor imitation of the barre.

"Jan Skrzetuski."

"So you are from Sicz?"

Jan made a face at the name, confirming with this reaction that he can only be from Pro Arte.

"Because I’ve been in Pro Arte for a few years and haven't seen you anywhere? I never went to the academy and maybe I’m not actually friends with most of the people from there but I don’t think you went there either.” She blurted it out too fast, Helena knew, because he seemed kind of caught off guard. What was worse, she didn't even remember to introduce. "And I'm Helena Kurcewiczówna. Sorry."

"What? Don’t apologize!” But when he saw the embarrassment written on her face, he immediately continued as if nothing happened. “I had been in Krakow National Ballet until last season. But Jeremi took me into apprenticeship ages ago. I guess everybody knows he started as a freelance dance teacher but I think I’m the only person he never stopped teaching. It has been something like a dream to come here and dance for him."

Helena noticed something heavy in his voice, Jan’s eyes nearly gleaming when speaking about Wiśniowiecki. He really was a handsome guy, she thought, using the moment when he was reminiscing to give him another once-over. His eyes were honey brown and they darkened when he caught her watching him like this, grinning as if he wanted to say ‘got you’.

Helena felt her cheeks getting heated but held his gaze, smiling, for the first time in forever not simply waiting for the next move but actually yearning for it.

“You must be pretty good, if Jeremi took liking in you.”

Now it was his turn to look embarrassed because he looked down at his outstretched feet and said in a strained voice. “I suppose he has a reason for giving me a place here.”

She was pleasantly surprised by his modesty. “So a soloist then?”

Jan nodded. “And you are from the corps? Because your… I don’t know if she was your ballet mistress but she seemed upset that you want to audition for the main role?”

Helena’s smile disappeared at the mention of that. “I’m a soloist too. A very recent promotion though.”

She had thought of Witowská who opposed it, actually went to ask her why in her righteous fury. But she just smiled at Helena like she always did and told her how it wasn’t something she did against her but actually for her, saying how she only just started to get along with the girls in the corps, that she could use some support, learn to work in a team… She was warmed by her reasons, honestly believing her good intentions, but Helena already felt like her whole life depended on others and in all honesty she always thought her performances with other people were somehow less to what she knew she could dance alone.

With one notable exception.

“Is she always so mean to you?” asked Jan, bringing her thoughts back to the aunt.

She made a face. “Oh, yes. But she rarely turns it into an event for wider public.”

Jan frowned but she continued, unable to skip a chance to complain about something that had been a painful constant of her life. Funny thing, she still haven’t gotten used to it after all this time. When Helena thought about it, something hardened in her, making it almost feel like a pride.

“She got angry because I never told her what I’m auditioning for, basically just assuming I will go for something minor. I knew she would react like this, I just hoped that maybe if she learns it in the last moment, she won’t have time to make a scene.”

Jan wouldn’t look more confused if she just spoke in Tartar. “Why is she upset that you want the role?”

Helena closed her eyes for a second as if she was making a decision what to say. “I want to believe it’s not about her thinking I can’t do it but that I shouldn’t. Last year was terrible – for many reasons – and my first one as a soloist,” she sighed. “Holding me back so I don’t embarrass myself and her of course by taking on something I can’t handle.”

“I would say that your opinion matters more than hers as it will be you dancing the role and not her.”

Helena smiled at him. It was so relieving to hear someone take her side, even being mildly scandalized by the way she was treated. She felt that she liked Jan more and more.

“She said that Jeremi has a high opinion of you, didn’t she?” Jan smiled at her almost conspiratorially now. “I would think his opinion matters more than the one of some already forgotten ballerina.”

Helena had to swallow a laugh. “You don’t know? That was Olga Kniahini.”

Jan’s eyes went wide and he looked towards the door as if she were still there so he could confirm this.

“From Bolshoi?”

“Everybody asks that, always, yet she was there only for a year.”

“Well, not many Polish dancers get there. Especially those who aren’t schooled in their academy. She came back to Poland after that though?”

“Yeah, if you are trying to find out why she left then I don’t know. It’s obviously a sore spot for her and she is always happy when the company suffers. Then she doesn’t exactly like the way our theater is run now either.”

Jan put his head to the side. “Yeah, can see why. It’s a disgrace what Chmielnicki did to the company.”

Helena decided not to tell Jan, given whose apprentice he was, that aunt had a very low opinion on both ballet masters, most notably saying that the two are just egoistical power-hungry men and that being dancers for them is not an occupation but a diagnose.

There was a silence between them now as Jan was going through the positions, leaving Helena to watch him, trying to determine his skill level but finding it impossible just from exercise. She hoped that she will see him dance today, small part of her even wishing for a scenario where they both get the main roles, even if this was silly as she didn’t know Jan that well.

Another thing that worried her was the part of the audition where they were supposed to make pairs and just try something spontaneously. She felt it an odd request to pair people completely randomly just to see what they can do but that was what Podbipieta wanted and Helena did not look forward to dancing with someone she wasn’t used to and didn’t know what to expect from. Fear always overcame her at the thought of getting someone who wouldn’t be able to lift her, not being exactly the shortest of the girls.

“What do you think about that weird partnering thing?” Helena finally asked Jan when he seemed to be at rest.

“Yeah, that is a bit odd. But it was explained to me that he wishes to work with people who are good at adapting. It’s not going to be an easy ballet, which is why he contacted Wiśniowiecki in the first place.”

Helena did not find this comforting in any way, already seeing aunt’s smug face after hearing she didn’t get the role.

"You don't have to worry about it that much though. They will judge us separately no matter who we dance with,” he said reassuringly, probably seeing the face she was pulling after hearing that.

The sound of a gong interrupted their conversation, making them both turn to the clock. They automatically moved to the door.

“I guess this is the part where I wish you to break a leg but you know… do anything but that.

Jan lifted his eyebrows. “You guys don’t say _merde_ around here?”

Helena gave him amused look. “That and worse. Some of the guys might slap your ass for luck.”

“You want to give it a try?” he joked, turning half around but she stopped him by grabbing his shoulder.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Helena while trying to not laugh. She knew her face was probably all red and thanked God nobody could see what she was thinking. They were in the corridor now which was full of people hurrying towards the stage. Helena became keenly aware of their proximity, standing with her shoulder gently pressed against his and feeling the warmth radiating from him. Their fingers brushed and Jan leaned closer to her, whispering softly:

“You didn’t actually expect I will just let you leave? Before making you promise that you will go out with me?”

Helena looked up to him. Her gaze settled on his parted lips.

“I can’t promise you anything,” she said deliberately but with only a few inches of space between them she knew it was an already lost fight. And one she honestly didn’t even want to win. Helena didn’t trust herself to look at his mouth any longer and quickly looked him in the eye. “But if you want to wait for me after the audition is over...” she trailed off.

“I could wait forever for someone like you,” Jan sighed dramatically.

He was so lucky he was cute to get away with such cheesy lines, Helena thought, a little mad at herself for laughing.

Witowská stormed into the corridor and seeing Jan and Helena standing nearby, she pointed to them.

“You two. Let’s go.”

Helena’s eyes widened. Was she joking? Weren’t all the dancers supposed to come up on stage so they could pick the pairs? And if not it was absolutely no good they were going first. Depending on how many pairs will be trying for Ieva and Tadeusz today, if someone with comparable skills and suitability comes after them, their performance will have the advantage of being fresh in the choreographer’s and the director’s memory.

It was a bit of infuriating that Jan didn’t seem concerned at all, smiling pleasantly at the committee while Helena knew her own expression must have looked terribly forced.

They were now standing on the stage, watching Witowská take a seat. A tall blonde man seated next to Wiśniowiecki stood up and awkwardly bowed, greeting them in accented Polish.

“My name is Longinus Podbipieta and I would like to thank you for auditioning. Now I suppose you two are familiar with the story, whether from the movie or from the original book...”

Jerema closed his eyes slowly and Helena could guess what was going through his head. This was another reason why she expected this to start with a cattle call first. Instead of doing it in front of the whole group, will he give a speech to every couple that walks in here? Under any other circumstances this would be interesting because she loved the story but she couldn’t focus on absolutely anything the choreographer said, something in her just screaming that they should put on the music and let her dance, or she will go insane.

Jan of course stood there with a serious face, nodding, looking like listening to Zerwikaptur story-line was the reason he came here today and didn’t hear it thousand times already in preparation for the Matura exam.

“I’m ready when you are,” said Muchowecki, their rehearsal pianist, a tall man with glasses wearing a black sweater Helena would swear could be seen on him every working day safe from the hottest summer ones. But he was willing to work ungodly hours under Jerema and for that Wiśniowiecki valued him, often consulting company decisions with him even if Muchowecki wasn’t exactly at the top of company hierarchy. Many things could be said about their should-have-been director but that he didn’t appreciate loyalty wasn’t one of them.

“We can begin straight away then,” said Podbipieta, noticing Jerema’s stoic expression. Jeremi slowly turned towards Muchowecki.

 

“What do you have there?”

 

“Beethoven Sonata in C minor? Opus ten number one?”

 

Jerema threw his hands in the air as if he couldn’t care less.

 

“Lets see what we have here then.”

-

 

Jan immediately turned to face Helena and knelt in front of her, his right hand stretching outwards. She took it just as the music started to play and Jan spun her around so her back was pressed to his chest. Then he whispered Helena’s ear:

“Don’t worry. Leave this to me and-”

She moved her head to the side sharply. Then she swiftly untangled herself form his embrace and sprang away. Tiptoeing further from him with arms curved downward into an almost circle, her elegant figure seemed unperturbed by his words. Helena stopped a few meters in front of him and as if on cue, began pivoting on her right foot. Suddenly she leaped into the air. While doing a full leg split she glided smoothly and landed softly beside him. A perfect _fouetté jeté_. There was a fire in her eyes he haven’t seen there before.

He felt excitement bubbling inside him, a grin breaking out on his face. No wonder she was mad with him trying to tell her what to do when she could dance like that. If this was how all soloists in the company danced, Polish National Theater sure could boast being the best ballet in the country. But he felt Helena was a special case. He could recognize the Russian influence, if not because of the gentleness that radiated from her clean movements, then definitively in the expressive way she moved her hands.

With slightly bent knees Jan created a circle with his arms in front of him, then moved his left arm to the side. He began rotating with quarter turns, gaining momentum by flinging his arms around, and interspersed each turn with a leap. He circled her, watching young Kurcewiczóvna pivoting en pointe in the rhythm of the piano. When he finally faced Helena, he closed the distance between them by leaping towards her. Doing a full leg split mid-air, Jan landed right in front of Helena. A grand jeté, the perfect response to her previous leap. He ended up so close he could see her eyelashes in detail.

Helena put her right hand on his chest and Jan, feeling her quickened pulse, knew instantly what she was about to do, meeting her other open palm with his own hand. While gazing into each others eyes, they intertwined their fingers. Any trace of outrage from before was gone, her face still very much alive, studying Jan’s own with fierce intensity.

“Promenade, to the left and then right,” Helena whispered as if in command, staring deeply into his eyes.

Jan nodded. He would, at this point, do everything she said. Helena stood up en pointe and stretched her arm upward towards Jan’s waiting hand while keeping her other arm curved below. She began pivoting while having Jan walk around her and lead her movements. An arabesque finish, her left leg stretched up backward and body tilted forward. Jan in passing noticed her hair was starting to slip from her bun but soon he no longer could concentrate on anything else than the music and her movements.

Then they began quickly moving in synchronization to the left, arms still linked. Suddenly she let go of his hand and did a quick fouette, ponytail now completely free from her bun, tickling his cheek in the process a few times as she spun around. Jan was rooted to the spot, feeling his face getting more and more heated every time her hair caressed it. He kept mentally cursing himself and tried his hardest to find concentration.

They connected their arms again. Then did the same thing to the right, now much faster as the music escalated.

“I’m gonna lift you now a little,” he whispered, breathing fast.

Jan made a sudden split on the ground and Helena laid herself atop his outstretched palms. He lifted her, marveling at how easy she made it for him. Helena could be while standing on the tips of her pointe shoes almost as tall as him and yet he didn’t feel like needing extra effort in lifting her. She spread her legs for a moment mid-air but soon she was on her feet again. She whipped the hair from her face as she stood up, followed closely by Jan into the position.

“Lift me higher now.”

She suddenly planted foot on his thigh and Jan helped her up, lifting her on his outstretched arms above him. She spreads her arms outwards like wings. The music ended.

 

Bohun wanted to close his eyes, to not be a witness to this yet he couldn’t look away. It took every ounce of self-control he had to not storm outside and… Do something? He had no idea what. Anything but looking at what he saw now. He watched the whole dance with absolute disbelief, at places barely able to catch his breath. How could they improvise this well when they most definitely never danced together before was a total mystery to him, not to mention the whole thing was seriously out of character for Helena. Since when could she dance like that with someone else than him?

He should have been happy that she finally could do _pas_ _de_ _deux_ so naturally but the more he looked at their expressions, her cheeks flushed, the guy looking dazed almost because of her... It made something harden in his chest.

They were supposed to dance this together. This was the perfect chance for them try for principal roles as a duo. He had been waiting two years, thinking that his postponed promotion was at least good for something. That as only a soloist he wouldn’t get another steady partner and thus not losing the opportunity to later have one in Helena. Bohun never doubted she would rise through the ranks faster than anyone else.

He hasn’t seen her whole summer, plagued by the memories of their last encounter, desperately wishing to go back there and make Helena change her mind. She couldn’t do this to him, this wasn’t what she wanted and it was most definitely not what he wanted.

The two months felt like two years and Bohun felt ruined because of them. Seeing a few pictures from the summer course she did with her aunt for younger ballerinas, laughing with some little girls and going out with Billewiczówna stopped being enough very soon.

Bohun knew the audition won’t be easy. That he will need to not only face Jeremi there, try to convince him and the new choreographer to give him the role… that was hard but doable. Bearable even. What wasn’t bearable, however, was looking at her getting all flushed over some new guy. Not even waiting for him so they could dance together.

Helena had said that this was the end but Bohun just thought she needs time to be alone, more or less begrudgingly, when he had no other choice than accept this as something temporary instead of ignoring her words altogether.

They were standing there now, bowing in customary fashion. For a small moment Helena met his gaze, shock written on her face but then she turned her eyes away quickly, as if afraid. This was getting worse and worse by any second. At that moment, the choreographer spoke up to confirm this:

“A very promising start! Thank you so much! I really like what you two shown us today. Both spontaneous and daring. If those are your soloists,” he turned to Wiśniowiecki, “then I’m excited to see what the principals have in themselves!” Podbipieta looked mildly ecstatic, after all he watched their dance with open mouth as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Bohun, honestly, felt the same.

“And consider this, Kurcewiczóvna is only soloist for a year,” said Witowská and nobody could say if Helena was still red from exhaustion or because the compliment. “She has a very different style from the other girls, used to be a bit of a problem when she was in the corps. But we fixed that, didn’t we?” she smiled.

Helena could only manage a nod. She had the expression of someone who wants to run away very badly.

He stared at the guy leaving with Helena, walking uncomfortably close.

“Who is that?” he asked Maksym.

“Fuck me if I know.”

“That’s Skrzetuski,” Jaszewski was heard behind them. Bohun turned back on the chair to find him in the row behind with his legs crossed over seat next to him.

“Skrzetuski?” What an ugly name, thought Bohun resentfully. “You know him?”

“Yeah,” Jaszewski gave him a weak smile. “I have danced with him in Krakow. We were both in the corps, started together actually.”

Bohun now understood why Jazewski was so wistful when looking at Skrzetuski or _Skrzat_ , how he immediately dubbed him in his head, even if this goblin nickname fit Skrzetuski very little as he was tall and objectively a good-looking person. The point was that despite starting at the same time Skrzetuski did, Jaszewski was still a _corps de ballet_ member after many years in a superior company and nowhere near the level this new person had shown. Not even going over to Sicz lifted him in the ranks, which was in all honesty the major reason to leave Jerema’s leadership for half their current dancers. Thankfully, Chmielnicki, while an unconventional director, could weed out those who deserved it well. Bohun only wished he wasn’t a good for nothing piece of shit drunk and late for this audition.

His arrival would greatly improve Bohun’s chance of being cast in this ballet. Chmielnicki’s opinion would be of zero matter to Jerema but the Lithuanian choreographer could listen to him. Helena was getting Ieva one way or another but they needed to have two cast plus substitutes to act as replacements in case of injury and the like. With a sinking feeling he realized that it would be pointless to try the couple dance now. If they chose her, they will pick _Skrzat_ too.

He had to admit some skill to him. Similar to Helena, he had a bit of a different style, this sort of old-timely elegance not common in Pro Arte. Emotional? Bohun definitely had felt things while watching him dance, even though it was doubtful that those were the result of only his dancing and not him grinning smugly at Helena for the whole time.

Bohun and Krzywonos both nearly jumped in their seats when Chmielnicki’s head appeared between them. “Why aren’t you two getting warmed up for your parts?”

“We have been waiting for you,” Krzywonos growled. “Since it’s otherwise pointless. Like the two of us could convince Jeremi to recommend us.”

Chmielnicki looked up to the seats for the committee and then on the new couple appearing on the stage with interest. He patted both of them on the shoulder.

“Go get ready. I don’t have currently anyone from Sicz auditioning for the duo so I will use this valuable time to watch the whole thing without looking at Wiśniowiecki’s paralyzed expression.” He was making himself comfortable in the chair, sinking a bit lower, as if that would prevent him from being recognized.

Bohun just wanted to go. He needed to prepare. If he couldn’t dance the duet with Helena, there was only one role he should audition for with the same chances of success and possibility to be on stage with her. Technically, it didn’t matter what the dancer wanted, some choreographers were able to switch one half of the pair with another, take someone from the corps for a solo and all of that in the span of few hours. But Bohun was not an optimist enough to consider the possibility of getting Tadeusz with Helena despite all the odds.

But he still could dance with her and God help him if he didn’t try his best to achieve that. He was not used to having things handled on a silver plate and if he needed to fight for them?

Bohun would start a bloody war if it meant getting Helena back.


	3. it's still the first day

 

 

Jan was trying very hard to get into the character. In his mind he went over and over that Albrecht variation he had prepared, gathering strength now that it was almost his turn. Never a part of the Giselle cast, yet he did in fact compete with this dance ages ago. Zakrzewski, his old ballet master back in Krakow, picked it for him despite Jan’s protests that he wanted something flashier like Conrad.

“No Jan, this fits you just perfectly.”

He did not dare to argue with the knowledge of a man who to his young eyes seemed almost ancient, even if he was saying that Jan was just perfect for the role of a deceitful prick who ruined some poor girl’s life. But in this case he thought it sort of made sense. Rytas, although not exactly a villain, was a number one asshole and if he acted differently, Ieva wouldn’t have to commit suicide at the end of the war.

Talking to Podbipieta a few days ago changed his perception of the character a lot. Jan had expected he would have wanted to stick to the original story at all cost but Podbipieta outright said that the movie was very good and that he was a fan of the interpretation, Rytas' especially.

“Stowejko was really upset with Lithuanians when he wrote the book,” laughed Podbipieta. “I wish to focus on his more redeemable qualities. He’s of course terribly brave but deep down he knows that he will never be happy. That’s where the cynicism comes from. And yet, when Ieva is on the scene, you can see that he is in fact not cynical at all, that despite all the horror he saw, deep down he just wishes for the same things as everybody else.”

Like love, thought Jan and felt the corners of his mouth twitch. He couldn’t stop thinking about the girl he met today. The phone where Helena put her number to call her burned in his palm when she returned it and Jan’s fingers felt itchy, wishing to hold her hand again, feel the quickened pulse of her heart like when they embraced at the beginning of their dance, to hold _her_ , now with all the time in the world and not just for a short-lived moment of their performance.

The mystery of Zenobius Abdanski and his connection to what happened to him when he was in the final stages of intoxication couldn’t be further from Jan’s mind. Of course until said Zenobius Abdanski didn’t stand in front of him in all his unholy glory, stopping on the way to the chairs reserved for Podbipieta and the others, to wave at Jan in a way that was almost mocking.

There was something both attractive and repulsive in the man’s feature features, receding hairline he apparently tried to compensate by brushing one big strand of black hair into his forehead, thin lips carrying a sly smile, and dark eyes that shone with terrible intelligence.

Jan felt his face gone white, flashes of a memory from a few days ago flooding his mind.

“I see you have heeded my advice to try for Rytas instead.”

This guy. The supposedly renowned ballet master from Ukraine, who was so eager to hear about him and his plans with Jerema, was none other than the second so-called artistic director of the Polish National Ballet, Bohdan Chmielnicki.

Who would even believe such a far fetched story about a ballet master from Ukraine just accidentally walking to DUPOL’s? Someone drunk out of their mind, answered Jan his own question with shame.

“You lied about who you are,” he said through gritted teeth.

Chmielnicki put his head to the side, as if in consideration. “Hmm, not really. Zenobius Abdanski is my acting name. I would say that I had a pretty good run in Kharkiv.”

“Could you stop making an idiot out of me? Once was enough. Otherwise I might start thinking you are ashamed of using your real name.”

“I can see your ego took a hit because of that night but this is a little presumptuous of you given I’m still your superior here.”

“Jeremi is my superior. And I think I’m the last person whose ego took any damage.”

Chmielnicki smirked. “I wanted to thank you for that. Even if you probably wouldn’t do it if you knew who I was.”

Jan straightened and looked him in the eye. “I did what I saw as right. I don’t like that man any more than you do.”

“Czaplinski? Oh I doubt that! He sure doesn’t feel any love for you either. Be prepared for some underhand moves.” Chmielnicki narrowed his eyes. “He is a deceitful little man.”

Jan stared at him, unimpressed, as if silently trying to convey his opinion that he was talking to one right now.

“Koniecpolski is not a good enemy to have,” continued Chmielnicki, “and Czaplinski will definitely talk to him. Jeremi probably won’t be too happy to hear it from him that you are going around punching academy headmasters.”

“Please do not insult him by implying he would involve himself in personal drama. Unlike others he is here for ballet and not for some petty revenge.”

“Such a naive boy,” Chmielnicki sighed. “But you will learn. I will try to do some damage control over that incident if needed but let's hope Koniecpolski finally realizes Czaplinski is a useless twerp and just gets rid of him.”

Jan clenched his fists. “I don’t want you to do anything for me.”

“Oh, feeling insulted again?” Chmielnicki's smile disappeared for a while and the look he was giving him was of a clear disapproval. This was not a man used to refusal, Jan could tell, but it only made him more adamant to not accept any of his bribes to pull him to their side.

In the end Chmielnicki only waved with his hand, his voice even acquiring a fatherly tone. “Ah, you need thicker skin or they will eat you alive here. I won’t lie – I quite like you. I might even forgive you your impulsiveness and attitude. After all when I was your age I was the same - if not worse!”

Jan, who knew Chmielnicki’s history pretty well, was definitely offended by this unflattering mirror. He never created any scandal in the theater and wasn’t constantly trying to steal someone’s woman.

“Well, if you get bored by the dictatorship of Wiśniowiecki, do remember that Sicz is open for all talented dancers who don’t like the way Pro Arte works.”

Jan finally calmed down and smiled at the ridiculousness of this offer. Everything he was nowadays could be credited to Jeremi. Only the lowest of the low would abandon him after that.

“Thanks for the offer. When Sicz becomes the superior company with a better repertoire and choreography…,” Jan wanted to continue: ‘I might try to emigrate somewhere where ballet still has standards’, but he swallowed those words, inciting a smile on Chmielnicki’s face, who looked like he got everything he wanted from this conversation. He patted him on the shoulder and Jan had to control himself to not shrug his hand off.

“Until then.”

-

Helena was sitting on a chair that was most likely stolen from somewhere and watched Alexandra throw hangers with rat costumes on the rack. The odor of vodka was palpable. It didn’t help some of the girls were currently spraying it on each other while laughing.

“This place smells like Chmiel’s office,” groaned one of the dressers and the other girls howled with laughter again.

Olenka wished there was a better method to clean some of the costumes but so far a simple bottle of Lodowa could go a long way.

“They stink less than last year,” Helena said encouragingly to her, seeing the stone-faced expression she wore on her face.

“I do not have words to describe what goes down in here off season. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those rat costumes had more to do with actual rats than the guys would be comfortable wearing.”

“I would like to see Radziwiłł scream when he gets one with rat droppings,” muttered Helena darkly.

“God no, I would lose this job if he complains to his uncle.”

“Knowing Bohusz, he would only try to bully you into going somewhere with him. If I were you I’d pick a place with a _lots_ of people.”

“Jesus Christ,” Olenka gave Helena a look. “We need to talk about something else. I do not want start this season with Radziwiłł. Too bad he was loitering here last year. Can’t believe that I never connected him with what you told me. I cannot thank you enough for warning me. Who would have guessed, from the way he acted...”

“I’m just glad you believed me. I was afraid… well you could easily think I was jealous and making up stuff.” Helena was staring at the last costume, the body of a giant plush Rat lying there lifelessly in the pushcart.

“You, jealous of me?” Olenka smiled for the first time that day and lifted her eyebrows. “You can be so ridiculous sometimes.”

Helena thought about how Olenka could be auditioning now too and felt terrible regret over never getting to dance with her again on the stage. She started ballet late but in spite of that was a fast learner and possessed the inner hardness necessary to survive in this industry.

They met ages ago during one of her Aunt’s intense summer programs, Helena connecting at sixteen with a two years younger girl better than her own peers.

She didn’t know what it was, that she just rarely had something else to talk about than ballet, which in complete honesty was all her life. Maybe it was because she grew up more or less isolated, most of her life home-schooled alongside her cousins who even in Helena’s own opinion were raised like wolves, to say whatever they want and do whatever they please – as long as it didn’t displease their mother of course.

Helena herself always felt like an outsider when the girls talked about school, which she didn’t attend, older boys who Helena never really had a place to meet, and activities outside classes she more often than not couldn't find time for. They didn’t exactly shun her but Helena’s own inability to pretend interest and the habit to rather choke on her own anger than impose on those who didn’t want her around didn’t help her with coming off as friendly and approachable.

She didn’t exactly suffer, used to doing more or less her own thing, but the summer months were especially jarring for her, not even a day going by when she didn’t think about how she could be seen as an enemy when she did the course purely so she could train with her aunt and not in an effort for the academy to notice her. They already had after all.

Olenka was the first person who went to her, that ever-present serious expression on her face, and asked if she could help her with the _brisé_ because she was falling behind. Even at that time Helena felt this girl acted more mature than her and this feeling never really went away, whether they discussed anything from boys to career prospects.

She was devastated when Alexandra decided to drop out of ballet, hearing her matter-of-factly stating she needed to do something that wouldn’t leave her with damaged bones at the age of thirty and without a college degree.

Helena at that time lost it completely, actually let her temper get the worst of her, and told Olenka that it was just her father speaking, and that she could have been a professional in a few years if she wanted. She remembered Olenka’s struck face and the hug she received.

“Thank you, I know you were fighting for me all the way here,” she said at that time. “But I already made my decision. And I know my father is right, Helena. I’m not cut for this. You grew up in it and it may not seem such way but this is the most unmerciful profession you could choose. I will never stop loving ballet but it’s not what I want from a job.”

Helena knew that ballet wasn’t easy of course. But in spite of that she couldn’t really imagine a life without it. If somebody took it from her, she honestly wouldn’t know what to do.

However, Olenka took her pensive expression as a sign she was still thinking about Radziwiłł.

“Don’t worry about that asshole,” interrupted Alexandra her brooding. “I will be careful if he ever comes back here again when I’m alone. Tell me more about the audition. How come you know so much about that new guy? Did you two talk?”

A small smile grown on Helena’s face and it kept progressively growing as Olenka stared at her. Helena looked around to see if all the girls left and then she leaned in and whispered breathlessly, absolutely unable to contain her excitement: “We are going out today.”

“What!?” Alexandra looked up at her in surprise and carelessly threw the clothes she had just been carrying on the big rat and sat down next to her. “But… I mean that’s great! So you two did talk!”

“We spoke,” Helena laughed. “He seems really nice. Not just that, I kinda have a feeling he is a good person when I talk to him. I can’t really explain it properly, you would have to meet him.” She suddenly stopped. “I could actually show him to you.” Helena pulled out her phone from the bag that has been lying at her feet. It took her a moment before she found Jan’s profile again.

“Wait, you actually went and added him? Five seconds after meeting him?”

“What? You think it’s too much?” Helena looked uncertain for a moment but then her face shined again as she looked down on the screen. “He just accepted my request!”

Olenka suddenly looked like she had to think very hard about what to say. “He better not take this the wrong way.”

“Like how?” Helena was not really paying attention, writing something on her phone.

“You are already writing to him?”

“He is writing too, but I’m gonna be faster,” she giggled and looked up at Olenka who gave her a look that couldn't be classified in any other way than judging. Helena didn’t have much time to think about its meaning because she saw he responded.

“What is he saying?”

“Have to dance now. BRB. Heart,” Helena looked up. “You know, the emoticon.”

“Thanks for explaining that one.”

Helena just started typing something again. “Only wishing him good luck. He’s probably not gonna read it before he finishes but whatever.”

Alexandra now crouched next to her so she could see Helena browsing his profile.

“I feel a little like a stalker,” she laughed a little.

“Don’t. Actually find everything you can about this guy before you go somewhere with him.”

“Look. Pretty, right?” Helena showed her Skrzetuski sitting shirtless on a horse which she mentally awarded as the best.

Olenka couldn’t deny he was handsome… in a certain way. “Well, you know what kind of guys I like.”

“Blonde, tall and unstable,” deadpanned Helena without thinking.

“Wow,” laughed Olenka. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“He looks good to me at least,” Helena said quietly, playing with her ponytail. “And I think I shouldn’t miss any more chances.”

Alexandra frowned. “What are you planning to do?”

“Me? What should I be planning?”

“You know you don’t have to go with the first guy who is nice to you. You are a great person and I’m sure-” She didn’t want her to get hurt and Helena could be terribly naive about some things.

“Stop it please,” said Helena, rolling he eyes. “You act as if I already… I don’t know, decided to marry him or something.”

“You kind of act as if you would if needed.”

“If it saved me from Bohun,” Helena tried to say nonchalantly.

Olenka was silent for a moment. “And what about Bohun? Did he make a scene yet?”

“Please don’t say _yet_ ,” Helena’s face lost a color at the prospect. How odd to see him after two months, although she got a text from him from time to time. It was relieving to know that he was at least working during the summer and not only getting wasted with her cousins and the new ‘friends’ he made at Sicz. But Helena herself rarely responded to them, only when he directly asked her if she is fine as she wanted to sleep at night without nightmares of Bohun showing up and setting the camp on fire.

“Will you help me with this?” Olenka asked, pointing at the cart and Helena got up to push it with her through the corridor to another room which was slightly less crowded with costumes than the previous one.

“Are we taking him out?” Helena pointed at the Rat King.

“No, I think this one will need to be machine washed. Best not to touch it till then.”

They parked it in between racks and cartoon boxes with some of the props. Helena looked at her phone again, to see if Jan’s audition was already over. Nothing so far. She continued to help Olenka with the costumes. They discussed the new canteen which hopefully would have some food that maybe possessed some amount of taste and was more suitable for dancers

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Olenka said while sorting various headpieces into new boxes. “I can’t wait to start on the dress for you. This will take like a week and then hopefully I will be able to get to my actual job.”

“Thank you so much again,” Helena smiled, tracing her fingers on the fine embroidery on one of the dresses. “To think I will have something tailored for myself from the very beginning. I feel like some celebrity.”

They both laughed.

“I almost forgot. Anusia will have tango classes this year again. We must go!”

“Right, I don’t have a schedule but when I do...”

“Oh, no hurry,” Olenka waved with her hand as she started to put the dresses on hangers held firmly to the place by Helena. They learned the hard way that the half-broken unlockable wheels would otherwise send the hangers hurtling across the room and Olenka earthwards. “She probably won’t have one till October. Plenty of time to set a date. “

Helena smiled with her face buried in all the frills and tulle at the thought of meeting Anusia again. In truth she was little jealous of the friendship the two had. They were like fire and water but Anusia was the only one who could make even someone stone-faced like Olenka laugh to the point of crying. She was in general a terribly witty girl and also terribly beautiful with no restraints to use it to her own advantage. Helena envied her the ease with which she did it sometimes, feeling the attention she herself got because of her looks brought her more problems than advantages.

“I just hope there will be guys to dance with us. Isn’t this more of a couple thing?”

Olenka gave her a long look. “That’s the least of our worries, trust me. It’s very popular.”

“All good then,” Helena thought that if this date thing didn’t work out she would have plenty of opportunities to meet someone else. Or so she tried to convince herself.

Olenka thankfully didn’t feel the need to elaborate more on that and they just talked about the summer, time passing by fast.

What a nice season start, Helena thought with optimism.

-

Jan finished dancing by slumping gracefully (at least he hoped so) to the ground, breathing hard. He tried to ignore Chmielnicki completely, although his presence somehow helped him to get into the character of Rytas, whose anger was more or less a signature trait. Podbipieta thanked him and Jerema nodded appreciatively, a slight smile on his lips. Jan wondered when they would have the chance to talk and train properly again. Jeremi had warned him before that he and Zamoyska will be slaving over the schedule until late evening hours, meaning he probably won’t even have class tomorrow morning, but it was strange to be in the same city without meeting up for lessons.

He remembered the ever-present feeling of utter exhaustion, all muscles in his body hurting when he was nearly falling asleep on the last train from Warsaw back to Krakow. But he always left with that sense of a deeper satisfaction, the knowledge he pushed a little more and got a little further as a dancer. He tended to look forward to those lessons for the whole month when he was younger and when he became older… he sometimes couldn’t stop counting the days.

But the overwhelmingly warm feeling in his chest wasn’t always present when he was still a child and there was nothing special in a rich kid whose father could afford paying the best teacher in the country. Jerema was highly unimpressed with him when they started, leaving Jan with the feeling he was controlling himself every time to not snap at him for some minor mistake.

It was so strange. The teachers and instructors rarely ever disliked him, often quite the opposite. Jan didn’t know why it bugged him so much in a man who he saw only monthly and just for a few hours. He didn’t understand why he pushed so hard, why he felt the need to practice like his life depended on it, proving his father wrong at the same time in saying that it will be just another hobby of his that grows stale the moment Jan sets his eyes on something else.

When Jerema looked at him, truly looked at him after he finished, with something else than the tired expression he always wore, Jan thought that it was all worth it. He smiled, the features of his face cleared, making him look for a while oddly young, the piercing eyes shining with some new light.

“Well, that was truly something. Now I actually regret I haven’t seen you live.”

It was a hard solo, Don Quixote, even as a child production, draining every reserve he had. He never managed to dance it quite like that before. This small dusty ballroom just witnessed his best performance ever. Yet Jerema’s clear approval was so unexpected that he just stared at him with wide eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You would… you would come the next time?” Jan asked ~~,~~ holding his breath, every muscle tensing while waiting for the answer.

Jerema crossed his arms and walked towards him. “Surely, your father will want to go. I will tell him what progress you have made.”

“Dad won’t have the time,” Jan added quickly. “And he doesn’t know as much about ballet as you do. I’m sure you could laugh at how bad the kids are at least.”

“I’m a teacher. Kids being bad at ballet upsets me in a way you can’t even know about.”

This dimmed all Jan’s hope of Jeremi ever seeing any ballet of his. He was so much ahead of others it started to annoy him. He had hoped father would let him try to apply for the ballet academy but his refusal was definitive, drawing up Jan’s own future with thick lines that were impossible to erase.

“I’m going to see you dance when it’s not a kid’s performance. What do you say about that?”

This shocked him to the core of his bones. “You think… you think I could...”

“Oh if you keep doing exactly what I tell you then I would be terribly disappointed if you didn’t.”

“I will!”

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” he smiled almost triumphantly, as if they forged some secret pact with each other. Jan was grinning too. He liked when Jerema was happy and that it was him who made him that way was the biggest triumph of all.

Many years later, on his last and absolutely final way back home to Krakow, Jan couldn’t stop grinning, happy beyond words, replaying being told by Jeremi that he wants him to audition in Warsaw as a soloist, spreading his arms wide when Jan sprang towards to hug him right after those words left his mouth.

“God, I knew you would be excited but I didn’t know you would get this emotional,” there was a humor in Jeremi’s voice, confirming his extraordinarily good mood.

“I’m sorry,” said Jan, trying to blink away the tears forming in his eyes. He had started lying to himself that he no longer cared if Jerema ever invited him there but deep down he always knew that wasn’t true.

The blue eyes studied him with an intensity, any trace of smile gone from his face. Jan was glad he didn’t find this laughable anymore, always ashamed when he was told something about acting like a man. He was right of course, Jan thought. He should have known better than to behave like a foolish kid, especially after fighting so hard to be treated as an adult.

Jerema put on a reassuring tone when Jan was finally able to control himself. “I would have brought you to the company ages ago, but it would be of no use while you were still in high school, your father wouldn’t let you go. And then that thing with Chmielnicki happened, I simply had no thought for anything else… you remember that I had to cancel your classes all the time.”

Oh, Jan remembered very well. A stray thought went through his head, like ‘Why haven’t you ever told me this? Do you know what a huge difference would that make for me? Didn’t you see that this is the only thing I ever wanted?’

But Jan was at that moment so overcame with gratefulness that he never said this and with his dream finally coming true, it was pointless to dwell on what he was and wasn’t told.

Now Jan was moving away from the stage, walking around the chandeliers hanging on ropes on one side in hopes to find a chair to collapse on. He promised Helena to write her and continued absentmindedly shuffling in his bag with thoughts on what will he say, when he saw that a new person just walked on the stage from the other side, possibly coming from the stands than the backstage. The man had messy brown hair, black shirt and tights and…

Oh.

It was Bohun.

Even after all those years Jan could recognize him from the days he was still competing. His hair stayed the same, eyes only now underlined with dark circles of someone permanently exhausted, face rough, looking like he might have skipped shaving day.

This was the person Jerema poured all his effort into and this was also the man who destroyed it all, threw it back at Jeremi without any ounce of shame and then stalking off to Chmielnicki.

It was enough to make Jan loathe him.

Jan side-eyed Jeremi cautiously ~~.~~ He noticed his eyebrows flew up upon seeing who just marched in there with a furious expression. Bohun stopped right in front of Jerema who narrowed his eyes at him, one finger running over his eyebrow, as if trying to figure out what he was attempting.

Jan had to move closer to better hear what they were talking about, having completely forgotten his quest to find a chair. He made out Muchowecki’s voice but not Bohun’s. Only when the rehearsal pianist played the first few tones did he recognize the finale of the Swan Lake.

At first it looked like Bohun was the prince, the soft music at the beginning corresponding with his movements. But Jan who has seen Swan Lake countless of times and even partly performed in it was not fooled. This was the wizard called Von Rothbart, recognizable even with the more or less original choreography Bohun was presenting. A lot of it screamed Jerema and Jan knew his ballet master usually did the good ending where the wizard was defeated by the prince, getting his wing torn up and dying on the floor.

Since Bohun was dancing the fight scene alone, he had a lot more opportunity to do whatever he wanted, sometimes outright stealing the prince’s movements as if he was mocking what he was doing, the smirk on his face confirming that impression.

Just as the music started escalating, his _renverses_ were getting more pronounced as if he was actually surpassing the prince during the fight. He turned on one leg with the other high in the air so fast it was only natural when he changed the last two into jumps.

Jan noticed he was doing everything on his left side and he had to wonder, if he was injured. Many ballet dancers could dance to both sides but your favored leg nearly always gave you one spin more and produced better jumps. With Bohun that didn’t seem to be the case though, he was doing everything just perfectly – to Jan’s open regret concerning his own chances and hidden pleasure at seeing a good performance.

After that he almost seemed like he would stumble, perhaps a representation of the part where prince strikes him. Bohun looked as if he was falling to the ground but he was only waiting for the right moment in the music to sharply turn his head towards the audience with a maniac grin, arms spread with palms upwards in imitation of wings.

Instead of dying in that moment, Bohun was almost laughing into the committee’s faces as he was kneeling on the floor, his chest heaving, eyes with dark circles scanning all of them.

Jan saw Jeremi shaking his head in amusement, as if he couldn't believe what Bohun was presenting. There was nothing kind in his smile and Jan himself felt his own throat go dry at such expression.

As Bohun quickly rose up his movements became gradually more aggressive, finally switching from left to right. Jan saw that his landing wasn’t so smooth as before but with the body he had, being bulkier in the upper torso and a rather big guy in general, it was understandable to a certain point.

Any leniency Jan might have felt towards his dancing was gone the moment he decided to end it with a five hundred forty, a rather difficult jump that consisted of turning in the air with your legs almost as if attacking someone. Michal, who back in the day used to do martial arts, called it the tornado kick.

Jan of course could perform it flawlessly too, which was the reason he didn’t feel like stuffing it in front of everybody’s faces in performances it didn’t belong to, even if executed well.

“The subtlety of the art is dead. Welcome to the circus!” The words of his old ballet master Zakrzewski ran through his head. But Bohun most likely knew what he was doing in this audition. Contemporary was notorious for humanly impossible stuff and even at the cost of standing on the ruin of a beloved classic, he seemed to impress Podbipieta. And Jerema too, Jan knew this expression well. Although the man began to frown, he was staring intently on Bohun, and you didn’t get the full attention of Wiśniowiecki unless you were doing something good.

It has ended with Bohun on one knee, arms again bend backwards. Since his whole get up was black and his hair was sticking out, he really looked like some sort of dark creature out of the night, menacing and sinister. The smirk he was aiming at the audience didn’t leave his face.

The piano’s last tones finally faded away and Bohun was straightening up, very slowly, as if offering them to take all the time they need to make a decision. He bowed deeply towards the choreographer.

“Simply amazing performance,” Podbipieta spoke as. “But Rytas isn’t really such an evil character, you know this right? Thought there is the act where he founds out about Ieva being with Tadeusz. I suppose you had that in mind?“

Bohun nodded very seriously. “I have read the book, yes.” To Jan’s absolute surprise he saw Jeremi smirking at this admission.

“Don’t worry, we aren’t going to ask you about post-modernism and the date when the author was born,” Chmielnicki laughed. “Thank you, Jurko.”

“Yes, thank you very much,” Podbipieta said and Bohun bowed again, then exited the stage and disappeared behind the curtains. The moment that happened, and Jan could still see him from where he stood, unlike the committee, his posture changed from straight to a more relaxed one. But as he took the stairs from the podium, he had to step on the right leg wrongly because he nearly tumbled down. Another man, a tall redhead with a rather mean face, caught him by the arm.

He asked him something and Bohun just nodded, lips pressed tight. He straightened and stood there for a while, still breathing hard from the overexertion. Jan found it oddly satisfying that even someone like Bohun could be so ruined by one short number.

The other man was clapping his shoulder, saying something to which Bohun smiled slightly and Jan could read something like thanks forming on his lips. They finally disappeared towards the changing rooms.

Jan turned back to the committee which conversation he was until now tuning out.

“...and of course I adore the way he dances. So much energy.”

Jerema sighed. “His health is not so good. I don’t think it would be wise to give him such a big role.”

In moments like these Jan found Jerema’s perception downright scary. No, he definitely couldn’t have seen Bohun nearly fall.

Chmielnicki frowned but then he let out a disbelieving laugh. “Where did you heard such a thing? That boy is healthy as a horse. He had some minor past injury months ago but that goes with the job. I’m actually hoping he will get a principal role in my upcoming ballet.”

“Will you be really doing Rebellion?” asked Podbipieta with interest. “Last time I’ve seen one it was before it got banned by the communists.”

“It promoted some unbrotherly sentiment, they said,” Chmielnicki smiled bitterly. “Well, I don’t hold many hopes for it being danced in Mariinsky.”

Podbipieta actually laughed at the mention of the Russian theater, the two sharing a look of a deep understanding. Jerema was looking towards the ceiling as if he wasn’t paying any attention to them.

“I’m just stating that if you decide to pick Kurcewiczóvna and Skrzetuski, adding Bohun would only make sense. He’s been partnered to Kurcewiczóvna before so you wouldn’t have to worry about incompatibility and trust me, he will have no problems in pretending he loves her.”

Wait what? Jan’s happiness at being seriously considered for the role of Tadeusz was replaced by confusion.

“The whole straight population of this theater wouldn't have such a problem,” Jerema said and Jan nearly choked in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

Chmielnicki gave him a significant look. “We all know that’s not such a huge amount of people as you are making it seem.”

Oh yes, Jan thought with sarcasm, some men are gay. Because Jerema just wouldn’t know that. He wondered why Chmielnicki couldn’t just shut up.

“I actually think relationship in a workplace only hinders things but that’s what you have to count with when working with young people.” Podbipieta looked to be deep in thought and stared into the papers where Jan supposed their head-shots were. Either his own wasn’t present at all or they printed one from the Krakow’s website. He hoped that Podbipieta will remember him either way, given they had met in person already.

“If they are professionals, it shouldn’t be a big problem,” Jeremi said as he was lifting himself up. It kind of sounded like a threat. He looked terribly tired and Jan felt bad, thinking of him working in his office till midnight. It also made him stop in his attempts to have a talk with him today, he’d only distract him and Jeremi didn’t deserve to be held there longer than necessary just because he wanted to chat.

Jan finally got to reading his messages and saw what Helena written to him, saying she would wait for him outside the theater in front of the Kościuszko statue. It was sent almost twenty minutes ago so Jan hurried into his dressing room, cursing himself for wasting so much time. He didn’t want her to wait too long. A girl like that could have ten like him on each finger and being late just wasn’t how he wanted to start.

He was so occupied with the thoughts of how he _would_ like to start, that he nearly ran into a man coming out of the changing rooms. Jan knew he startled him because he nearly jumped at the short contact their shoulders made.

“Blyat,” cursed the familiar voice and Bohun gave Jan an infuriated look until his eyes widened in recognition. “Move!” he spat at him.

“You move!” said Jan with anger in his voice. Bohun’s face darkened and his light eyes were practically glowing in the badly lit corridor when he made a step towards Jan, leaning menacingly.

“Thinking you are some hot shit? First day here and already fancying himself that he can dance with the best girl in this rank?”

Jan without any hesitation pulled his arms forward and pushed the guy away so unexpectedly that he stumbled a little. The intent of murder was clear on Bohun’s face but just in time to make his move they were interrupted by another man’s voice.

“Hey! You two!” Chmielnicki shouted at them from stairs, slowly descending down.

Jan couldn't hide his surprise as Bohun, still glaring at him with a snarl on his face, froze on the spot. A few people were gathering into a crowd behind him, giving Jan assessing looks, as if something more important was happening here than two guys fighting over a girl.

“What is this?” Chmielnicki asked Bohun when he stood in front of them. “I have been looking for you everywhere and you are here instead, harassing the new kid? High school is over, I need you in my office.”

“I’m going.” Bohun seemed to be choking on his own anger but apparently Chmielnicki’s presence was enough to stop him from pursuing Jan’s death for the moment.

“What’s wrong with that Russian? Is he fucked in the head?” asked Jan loudly for everybody including Bohun to hear. He saw him to pause in his walk, back stiff. But Bohun only seemed to grip his fists harder when he turned to give Jan a particularly nasty look, after which he continued walking towards the door with Chmielnicki. Leading Bohun away the older ballet master turned his head to wink at him. Jan shuddered, hoping nobody saw.

“You don’t know him? That’s Bohun, Jerema’s former first soloist.” A man with short red hair turned towards him. Jan noted with surprise it was Wierzsul, a rather well known Pro Arte principal. “Everybody thought he was gonna be big outside Poland but he had many injuries in the last few years and left the company with a real bang. The rumors are he was in some kind of a plot to bring Jerema down but in the end didn’t go with it.”

“I see,” Jan said, eyes still focused on Bohun’s back.

He knew exactly who Jurko Bohun was and rather extensively to just forget he is from Ukraine. Maybe it was petty to pretend he didn’t but Jan knew that someone who tried to hurt Jeremi was his enemy and twice over if he thought he had some weird ownership over a girl Jan liked. Chmielnicki’s words about Bohun not having to pretend he loves her rang in his head.

Jan in fact felt sorry for him. After all, if this was the reaction to him just dancing with Helena, he will probably try to actually murder Jan after today.

Just tragic, Jan thought with a humor, but deep down he truly felt some regret over Bohun, who even today emitted something untouchable that must have transmitted from the stage to the audience like a cupid’s arrow. Jeremi used to be so proud of him, speaking in high regard of a boy who barely knew ballet existed till almost thirteen. How he could captivate the public no matter what he did on the stage, never complained, always soldiered on through every obstacle. How Jan wished for Jeremi to talk like that about him. But Bohun just threw it all away at the first opportunity, forgetting that he left behind a man without whom he would have been nothing. And learning that he actively tried to ruin his reputation when leaving…

Maybe Jan won’t be so sorry when they meet again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * While Jerema’s actor in the movie is in his fifties, the real Jeremi Wiśniowiecki never even lived to forty and was in his late thirties during the book events just like Jerema in this AU.  
> * Zamoyska is actually Gryzelda Wiśniowiecka but here they never never married although they are very close friends.


	4. my parents are DEAD

 

Bohun sat in Chmielnicki’s office and tiredly watched his artistic director curse and slap the tower on his desk.

“Why do they have to change it all the time? A new system? Please. I’d rather have it slow than broken!” His palm hit the computer again with a loud thud. “And this is what the company wastes money on? While I get reprimanded for wanting a bigger budget for actual costumes and stage set? Gonna tell you, white walls are for hospitals and prisons. Who wants to watch that? And who wants to dance in that? Koniecpolski, Zasławski… they all have offices three times this big but surely none of them receives complaints about wasting the company’s money.”

Bohun nodded in hopes Chmielnicki will let him off soon as he had some unfinished business with a certain soloist. Two in fact, he corrected himself in his head. Helena couldn’t avoid him forever either and they definitely needed to have a talk.

Chmielnicki was now whispering a password under his breath, some sort of date. Bohun was at least glad he didn’t put there something obvious like ‘password’ or ‘Sicz’. He knew many people had aversion towards Chmielnicki and didn’t think he was responsible enough to run a company. Bohun’s own opinion didn’t really differ at first. But just one visit to this office was all it took to change it. 

Four months ago Chmielnicki looked surprised when he saw him in the door. His office was in an even bigger mess back then, although Bohun could see honest attempts to make it look professional. Chmiel would have probably succeeded, had he ever actually attempted to unpack half of the boxes. Sicz wasn’t _that_ new.

“If this isn’t Bohun,” said the man cheerfully. “Come in, boy! Close the door and sit down!”

Bohun felt a bit of relief at this reception, the tension he didn’t even know was there leaving his shoulders, making him stand straight again. After all, Chmielnicki tried to get him into his ranks several times, first directly from the academy when he was still a teacher and last time when he destroyed the so-called unity of the Polish National Ballet. So Bohun thought he might be expected with open arms, knowing too well his worth when it came to ballet.

Taking a breath, he looked Chmielnicki straight in the eyes. “I no longer want to dance under Jerema. Not even for another hour. I’m here to ask if I could be used in your part of the company, at least for the few months till this season ends.”

Chmielnicki looked at him questioningly and then, completely unexpectedly, said in a sharp voice: “You were kicked out of _Pro Arte_.”

Bohun opened his mouth to protest but was silenced sharply. “Don’t bother! There are already all kinds of rumors running around why. One particularly appalling.”

All color drained from Bohun’s face, remembering Zagloba. After hearing all that bullshit tirade of how great Jerema is and how this could damage his reputation or whatever, only he would be stupid enough to accidentally let it out anyway. He felt his throat tighten with the thought of his former co-workers discussing everything he told him while he was drunk.

“Is the injury something that will prevent you from dancing for more than four months?”

This snapped him back to attention fast. “I can dance!” Bohun spat out with outrage, after dealing with the immediate shock. “I just need to stop doing bigger jumps for a while!”

The brace was well-hidden under the loose sweatpants and he did his best to walk in there as surely as possible but Chmielnicki’s dark eyes scanned him with such certainty he had lost all hope of fooling the old ballet master.

“Few months, you say,” he was saying it so carelessly but Bohun felt he didn’t like this part one bit and had a refusal on his lips. Bohun licked his own nervously, knowing he bet all of his money on that fact. “So you have other plans afterwards?” Chmielnicki lifted his eyebrows.

Bohun tried to look thoughtful and smiled as if in consideration, putting hands into the pockets of his trousers. He wasn’t technically bluffing, the offer was very real although if it still applied was a question. But he didn’t want to leave Poland or even Warszawa. Couldn’t.

“I have offers,” he cocked his head to the side. “Poznań, Krakow… Kiev.” The latter one’s name felt strange on his lips, tasting of nostalgia for something that he wouldn’t find there nowadays even if he decided to go.

“I knew about Kiev at least… So you wish to be employed for the next few months and then leave for greener pastures? You must know I won’t accept that.”

“In that case I could spend also the next year here. Provided I do get the contract for the rest of this season.” Even before Bohun said it, he already knew Chmiel saw right through him.

“So you have a problem with money right now.”

Bohun’s lips formed a thin line on his face. Through gritted teeth he said quietly: “I just want to be sure if I’m going to be still employed next month.” He could make some money at Burlaj’s shop but as a dancer he should never stop dancing for a prolonged amount of time. Given that he definitely couldn't afford paying for summer classes, his only physical activity would be lying under cars for what… almost a quarter of a year? Bohun was certainly not used to any form of idleness. Not to mention he tended to get into all kinds of fucked up shit when he had a lot of time on his hands.

“I’m not gonna pretend we don’t want you, that would be pointless. I have said it to you many times, that with a proper teacher you could be truly famous but it was all Jeremi this, Jerema that… I really wish you would have listened to me.”

It was laughable that Bohun would ever consider joining Chmielnicki back when he'd had the full attention of the best ballet teacher in Poland. Part of him held the conviction that if he were thirteen again his path would be exactly the same. The other part just wanted to kill Jerema very badly.

“...won’t be even be the first reject out there. You know Ihor Puljan, who used to be Jarema’s pupil as well, and maybe you will remember some of the older guys.

Bohun tried not to frown. He knew the very first who left was Tatarczuk, who at this point would be already retired and Barabasz, only few years his senior with some mentionable talent. But Barabasz was known to be incredibly… hard to train. Jarema refused to teach him after one class, publicly proclaiming him stupid as a post. Bohun remembered watching this at sixteen, struggling with high school education, deeply unsettled by the thought that this will be him one day. Neither of those two lasted in Sicz for long.

“As for the contract you would have to be moved to the corps for the rest of the season, which of course means less pay.”

When he saw the face Bohun was making, frowning and ready to protest, Chmielnicki interrupted him:

“That’s the only thing I can say in defense of this decision. I will need to explain this to the higher-ups somehow. We are definitely one dancer short. In fact, be grateful that I’m saving you from the loads of work I have for my soloists. Not saying anything about what you will dance, we will monitor your recovery and see how much you will be able to take. Rest, gather up strength, let your knee heal. In the meanwhile the lower ranks can learn from you. Victory for both sides I would think.”

Bohun would too if it wasn’t for the money. On the other hand he wouldn’t exactly want anything to happen to his more or less healthy knee which he was now overtaxing from purposely doing everything to the left. It started hurting him more just at the though of some complicated solo. Nobody could, however, make him admit that.

“Sure. If this is all that you wish to do with me for the rest of the season...”

“And don’t think I won’t make you sign the yearly one too. With your current rank of course.”

Bohun stared at him for a while but then he nodded as if in resignation. He still didn’t want Chmielnicki to know that currently this was the only job in the world he wanted. Always better to negotiate on your own terms, although the more time Bohun spent there the more he was sure the old fox was getting absolutely everything he wanted out of him. He didn’t even dangle the principal rank in front of his nose which in all honesty offended him a little. How was he any worse than the guys Chmielnicki had there?

“If you feel up to it you can come tomorrow to my class, I’d like to introduce you. But if you want to wait till we sign the papers-”

“I will be there tomorrow.” He looked seriously into the man’s eyes.

“Anything else you’d like to ask?”

Bohun was trying to find the right words for a long time, somehow not prepared for everything to go so smoothly and this fast.

“I won't eat your head, just say what you want. Notice where you are - you don’t need to bow and kiss my shoes just because I’m your superior.”

He had heard that Chmiel was actually very set on formalities but the knowledge he still considered him valuable enough to fight with the management over hiring a dancer mid-season gave him enough courage to speak.

“I want to be partnered to Kurcewiczóvna.” He didn’t just want to, he _needed_ to. “Whenever possible.” Ideally always.

Chmielnicki looked thoughtful, crossing his hands over his chest. “You would have to bring her to Sicz though.”

“We are technically still one company.”

Chmielnicki sighed theatrically. “She doesn’t want to...”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but here she would never get the level of training she gets in Pro Arte.” Neither would Bohun but he didn't have a choice. If he were a woman, it would be an even direr situation as they didn’t really have any renowned ballet mistress. The advantage of Sicz was that the gender ratio was almost even, making partnering more flexible, this all thanks to Jerema’s male drop out. But otherwise the biggest thing Chmielnicki had going for him was that he definitely stayed in the audience’s memory since his performing days and continuously attracted attention. That kind of thing sold tickets.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. My long-time friend will join us for the next season and let me tell you there is no woman I’d rather have teaching here.” The director was smiling now with visible delight. It apparently brightened his mood enough to not take any offense when Bohun didn’t show any curiosity about her identity.

“Could you promise me that you will at least try? We have been dancing together in the past. And we do the festival together. She… I don’t think she dances so well with anybody else. We had known each other since we were children.”

“Yes, I have heard about you two,” Chmielnicki waved his hand. “You can stop with those sad eyes, save them for that pretty girl of yours,” his lips curled into a smile but it soon disappeared. “I will see what I can do, which is not much given how I’m being snubbed at every corner but if there is an opportunity for it, I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you,” Bohun bowed his head. He truly was grateful, even for this.

In the meanwhile Chmielnicki leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. He studied Bohun with an unwavering gaze that began to make him twitchy.

“If the rumors are true, then Jeremi is a bigger piece of shit than I ever imagined. And be aware that I absolutely despise the man.” He scratched his chin, checking the papers lying on his table. “If they aren’t, personally I don’t really care, as long as you don’t pull this shit here. Be aware that everybody knows I drink too much, you won’t impress anyone with that,” he said with a pointed look, pulling out a glass and a bottle as if to demonstrate.

Great, thought Bohun sarcastically. From a psychopath to an alcoholic. 

“Come on, have some,” said Chmielnicki. Only now Bohun noticed that the man deftly held two glasses. “You look like you really need it.” As he was handing him one he said: “I’m Bohdan. Please don’t bother yourself with polite forms, we are all on the same boat here.”

“Jurko. Or Bohun. It’s the same to me,” he lied through his teeth. “Everybody just calls me Bohun.”

“I did wonder for a while if it is Bohun Jurko or Jurko Bohun. Your parents must have been artists too,” Chmielnicki chuckled.

The corners of Bohun’s mouth curled slightly at the remark. He took the filled glass in his hand and when they were about to clink them, he said: “To the new partnership then.”

Chmielnicki smiled, amused, tilting his glass it nearly spilled. His eyes were digging into Bohun’s soul when he said: “And to Jeremi choking on his own tongue.”

 

-

 

“Well fuck it!” Chmiel brought Bohun back fast. “I have the papers printed but if we need to make some changes you will have to sign it later this week.”

Bohun shrugged. He just hoped Chmiel would actually go over the contract with him and not just slam it in front of him on the table to sign.

"Also you need to get a medical exam. Don’t think I forgot about that."

"Do I have to? The last doctor I visited told me that at this rate dancing is unsustainable for me and I should just quit." Fuck, he shouldn't have said that. It was the truth though, normal doctors were often horrified by the physical abnormalities that regular ballet dancers possessed. The sheer willpower Bohun presented just to get his hands on some painkillers... The Italian specialist in Pro Arte on the other hand had some very strange ideas about medical confidentiality, proving constantly that if you went to him in the morning Jeremi could ask you to come in by the noon and talk about your need to take things easy and give the role to someone else.

"Eljaszenko won't, he is a physiotherapist here and has been a ballet rehabitionalist since the seventies."

Bohun just nodded and hoped everything had healed during the summer. He hated the fact that the auditions were set for the first day and felt frustrated about not getting enough time to get back in shape.

There were no bigger issues with the contract and he signed it without thinking, feeling a huge relief that it was all done and over. It was not where he imagined himself to be when he joined Pro Arte at seventeen but it still was a lot better than what some of his old teachers fancied for him. Seeing bars anywhere?

“Are you excited for the Rebellion?” asked Chmielnicki and Bohun grinned.

“Yeah. Famous ballet makes a famous dancer.”

“I got just the thing for you – ah!” he put a finger up when Bohun tried to ask. “No, no questions. You will learn all in the right time.”

Bohun kept smiling, this shitty day finally improved by the great news that he will most likely use his _hopak_ experience in this ballet. Truthfully, he sometimes missed it, the atmosphere back there was great with him dancing alongside the Kurcewicz brothers. Not to mention the Rebellion was about Cossacks and contained sequences with swords which, and he felt no point in denying that to himself, excited him like a little kid.

Chmielnicki watched him, clearly pleased. “Before you leave, I just want to give you some bit of motivation. Before you run around and start fighting in the halls with Jerema’s prodigies.”

“If Skrzetuski is such a prodigy, why did it take Jerema so long to bring him here?”

“Skrzetuski… I have a feeling that he too soon finds out that there is a huge difference between monthly class and nearly everyday training by his royal madness.”

Bohun’s laugh died in his throat when he finally realized the extent of what that could mean. No matter, he reprimanded himself angrily. _Skrzat_ could drop dead right now and it would be an occasion to celebrate.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“I have said that if you show me that you can actually function in the company, that you got some sort of a team spirit – no point of talking about discipline with where you worked – and that you will truly give it your all… I don’t see why I wouldn’t promote you to a principal this year.”

“You would…”

“If you are still interested. You wanted to go abroad after all.”

You manipulative asshole, though Bohun without any actual spite.

“I don’t actually plant to leave. As long Kurcewiczóvna is here in Warszawa...” He felt a lot lighter when he said it but Chmielnicki in his opinion deserved the truth. And Bohun truly liked Sicz, despite all his expectations and former prejudices. In Pro Arte Vivas all that brought him and the other guys together was the combined fear and adoration of Jerema. Not until it was all over he realized they weren’t even actual friends.

“You would really sacrifice your career for this girl?” He had something in his eyes, a surprise mixed with pity.

“It’s not a sacrifice for me.” Bohun felt his throat go dry when saying that. If only Helena felt the same, if only she loved him the same way he loved her.

“I knew you were bluffing about the offers. You have a good bluff but really… From who do you think they learned about you in Kiev?”

Who indeed. Bohun felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him for thinking he was playing some sort of game with Chmiel. The man at least didn’t seem angry, although the look he was giving him was slightly unnerving.

“I’m serious about the principal. And I want you to think of it when you dance. Or even when you don’t. Maybe next time when you meet a guy that is getting cozy with your girl, you will remember that you can punch him in the face only in your off hours.”

“I will try to remember that,” said Bohun dryly.

-

Helena was sitting with Jan in one of the nearby restaurants, him letting her pick the place as he didn’t know anything around here besides DUPOL. She noticed a couple of corps girls eyeing them from the dimly lit corner table who quickly averted their gazes.

“So when did you start doing ballet?” Jan asked to break the awkward silence that rose when they sat down.

“I think I was four or around that age. You?”

“Wow, that’s really soon. I think I was seven?” he furrowed his eyebrows, deep in thought. “Yes, because Jeremi started to train me at ten and I did ballet for three years before that.”

“I sort of grew up around it so it was inevitable. They say that even as a toddler I liked to watch when Wasyl, my older cousin, practiced.” Helena smiled sadly at the bittersweet memories of a different Wasyl who back then barely spared her a glance, and of time distorted features of uncle Konstantin’s face, telling his sons to be nice to their little sister. “I tended to run around and get in the way a lot.”

Those things might have changed but Mikołaj screaming at her that she isn’t his sister and Aunt watching her with revulsion apparent on her face – that stayed almost comfortingly same.

“Is your cousin dancing in Warszawa?” Jan interrupted her thoughts, puzzled her face fell.

“No, he doesn’t do ballet anymore,” Helena didn’t give him the time to ask why. “None of my cousins do. Mikołaj was only decent and wanted to study instead, Symeon just plain hates it. It’s kind of embarrassing, he is twenty five but thinks rebelling against family tradition is something cool.”

“So you have a close relationship?”

Helena had to control her face. “Well… I do live with them.”

“Really?” Jan spent so much time at his uncle’s place as a child it almost felt like he lived there sometimes. Stanisław just loved to tell people they were twins.

“Yeah. Because my parents are dead.”

Oh shit, thought Jan. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” Helena tried to shrug it off but Jan could see she didn’t feel like talking about it. Who would, after all. “And I don’t really remember them. I was one year old when father died and mother passed when giving birth to me.”

That doesn’t mean you cannot miss them or be sad they are dead, thought Jan with a tight feeling in his chest.

“Trust me, my family isn’t really the best first date topic,” said Helena with a weak laugh. “What about you? Your parents are hopefully alive?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Jan said without much thinking. “I mean father is,” he added when he saw Helen’s struck expression. “I don’t know my mom.”

“Oh… that’s… that’s actually sort of sad.” For how she tried to keep her face blank when talking about her parents, now Helena’s eyes were wide and full of emotion when she looked at him. Jan felt almost ashamed that his possibly dead mother yet again helped him to gain sympathies of a girl. Next time he will just say she is traveling the world or something.

“I didn’t mean for this to be such a downer. I’m here with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and instead of making her laugh I’m making her sad,” he smiled widely at Helena whose cheeks gained a red tint for a second, until the corner of her lips went up.

“I’m sure the last one is always the most beautiful,” she said knowingly, although a smile was present on her face, almost teasing.

Jan felt for a moment taken aback by her wild yet sadly accurate guess about his nature. “With you it’s true!” He laid the back of his hand on his forehead and throwing his head back, made a sad face. “I will never be able to use that line again.”

“Maybe you should come up with better lines,” Helena countered, eyes twinkling.

“Maybe I won’t need them anymore.”

He felt that he was walking on thin ice but when she looked up at him, as if in consideration, Jan knew he said the right thing.

“Maybe,” Helena said slowly, her gaze unwavering, reminding him of the look she had when they danced. They were interrupted in staring at each other when the food arrived.

“God, I’m so hungry,” Helena was used to snacking throughout the day but today she only had a very light breakfast in the morning to avoid getting sick during the audition. It really shouldn’t have been this early and at the start of the season nonetheless. Podbipieta most likely had some other business somewhere else if they scheduled it for today.

“Did you always want to do ballet?”

Jan nodded seriously, swallowing his food. “Father let me try anything I wanted but I never stayed anywhere for long. It just got old after some time. When I tried ballet it never felt that way and my dancing… it was never perfect. It still isn’t.”

“Is it ever? I mean, I rarely ever see myself perform and think: yes, that couldn’t have been done any better. In truth I doubt it can happen.”

“Oh, it can happen,” Jan said seriously.

“I hope it happens before I retire then.”

Jan lifted his eyes to met hers. “That’s honestly all that I’m worried about. The time… I hate this, you know? I’m twenty one in a month and-”

“In a month?!”

Jan’s smile grew. “What? Surely you don’t think I’m too young _?_ ”

Helena laughed when Jan lifted his eyebrows suggestively. “No, but you are younger than me then. I already am twenty one. That’s so strange. I had thought you are much older.”

“I get that. I could buy alcohol at fifteen, nobody ever blinked an eye. Everybody in our family is tall.”

“I’m tall too so it’s good we have more taller guys dancing here. I had to dance with way older ones when I was young because nobody around my age had a good height. And a lot of people are leaving to Sicz nowadays.”

“It still happens?”

“Yeah. It’s not the mass leave that happened three years ago but just at the end of the last season Krzeczowski announced he is leaving. Aunt told me he was Chmielnicki’s friend and they danced in Warszawa around the same time. Still everybody was shocked he would leave at this age.”

“That’s terrible. To hear that people who worked here really don’t feel any sense of loyalty to the company.” Jan shook his head in disbelief.

Helena was sure that it was more that the people felt the company wasn’t exactly loyal to them but Jan just got here and she didn’t want to worry him where maybe no worry was needed. After all she was pretty much satisfied in Pro Arte and staying in Warszawa meant she could train with Aunt, although Helena would lie if she said she didn’t imagine herself somewhere abroad, far far away from the things that dimmed her enjoyment of dancing here.

But it was just an imagination, a laughable dream of her supporting herself alone with ballet salary, living in a different country far away from her home in a flat with some people she didn’t even know and whose language she possibly wouldn’t understand, just confidently doing everything for herself… exactly the opposite of what she felt it was like now.

“That was good,” Jan finished his chicken shortly after her. “We have to go here again, don’t you think?”

“Oh sure.”

That seemed all Jan wanted to hear because he got up to pay for them, ignoring Helena’s weak protest with a smile.

The moment he stood in the line with his wallet, a hand fell heavily on his shoulder.

“You walk with your head in the clouds,” said Jeremi as Jan turned towards him. “I have been calling your name. If I didn’t know better I would think you were avoiding me.”

Jan laughed, glad to finally catch up with him. “I’m still trying to find my way around. You know how the first days are.”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Jeremi sighed, staring into the distance. But then he turned again to Jan, all tiredness seemingly gone. “But it’s good I have you here since I need to speak with you anyway.”

“Oh, sure. I just… I’m here with someone right now but we were finishing up almost. I will just go say good-bye her.” Shit, Jan thought. He couldn’t have showed up at worse time.

Jeremi narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t here even a week and already trying to find yourself a girl?” He chuckled. “I’m impressed.”

Jan’s eyes widened, caught in the act, stuttering something.

“Stay here if you need to.” Jeremi just smirked. “I’m sure we can meet another time.”

“No, it’s fine,” he brushed fingers through his hair. “I will go now, we were leaving anyway.” He didn’t get why Jeremi seemed so pleased about this. He did say a few times that Jan would be happier if he found a proper girlfriend but Jan was under the impression he said this to more or less everybody so of course he would tell that to him as well.

“Alright. I’m gonna go ahead, I have to pick something from the car anyway. You are going to like it.”

“I will meet you there.” This cheered him up a little. Jeremi probably obtained some recordings from another theater so this meant Jan would learn what they will be doing this year much sooner than the others.

He quickly paid, leaving a big tip, and went back to Helena, who was already in her jacket.

“Thank you again.”

Jan just shook his head as if it were nothing. “No, thank you for having lunch with me. I had a great time.”

“Me to,” Helena smiled, her face flushed with expectation of what he would say next. Jan groaned internally.

“I would love to take a walk with you or just hang out but I just met Jeremi and he wants to show me something...” He kept scratching his chin nervously and avoided her eyes enough for Helena to put two and two together.

“You have to go?”

“Yeah, I do,” Jan got a really guilty look on his face.

“No, no, I get it. He is the director.” Also it was Jeremi – a good reason enough for anything. She was about to stand up but Jan quickly reached for her hand to stop her.

“I really feel like we should go somewhere together again.” He paused for a moment before taking a breath. “Do you feel the same?”

Helena stared at his hand covering hers until her pink lips formed an almost shy ‘yes’. When she lifted her eyes to finally meet his, Jan had the feeling there was absolutely nothing shy in those dark eyes though and knew he will be replaying the way she pursed her lips a little when she said that and how nice her voice sounded for the whole day.

“Do you have a free day during the weekend?”

Helena finally felt herself pulled back to reality, unconsciously pulling her hand back and immediately regretting it.

“Saturday noon I train with aunt. So if you have time in the afternoon… that would be great. Because Sunday afternoon I have another practice.”

“So Saturday afternoon?” grinned Jan.

“Okay. I suppose we will see each other till then though.”

“God, I hope so.”

Helena burst into laugh, making Jan wish it was already Friday instead of Monday. How the hell would he survive the next six days?

They walked outside together. Helena was prepared for it and would be disappointed if he didn’t but the moment he leaned to kiss her on a cheek as they parted, she knew there was something definitive in that action. That she was really moving on, doing what she knew she should have done years ago.

She just wished the happiness she felt on her way home, remembering the fleeting moment when his lips touched her cheek, the warmth that emitted from Jan’s eyes and smile… Helena wished they weren’t dimmed by uneasiness and worry. And despite telling herself that if something happens, it certainly won’t be her fault, Bohun’s furious face kept ominously coming up in her imagination.

The very real possibility of this ending terribly for all three of them didn’t leave her mind but neither did Jan.

-

Bohun saw Skrzetuski in the parking lot with Jerema, Helena thankfully absent and hopefully already on her way home although Bohun was angry at himself for taking so long with Chmielnicki that he missed her. Jaszewski caught up with him and Krzywonos when they stopped to have one last cigarette outside.

“You had said that you knew him. What kind of a guy is he?” he finally asked as _Skrzat_ followed Jeremi towards the side entrance of the main building where Pro Arte’s administration could be found. Sicz’s own company headquarters and private studios were on the right side in the newer wing entered from Zaporska street which was solely responsible for their company’s name.

Three years ago when Chmielnicki was trying to build his own company from basically nothing, he seized the opportunity in the moment of genius and tremendous spite and named them Zaporska Sicz after a historical and, what’s important, autonomous Cossack state withing Polish borders. It most likely was a jab at those who were asking him to go back to Ukraine if he doesn’t like how Polish theater is run, despite dancing in Poland all his life, and at those who kept telling him to bow down to Jerema’s leadership which Chmiel already rejected. Bohun also knew Chmiel was mad that Jerema’s part of the company basically stole the common motto of the Warszawa ballet _Pro arte vivas!_ although in truth everybody started to call it that naturally without Jeremi’s input.

“You are still worried about your girl?” Jaszewski went silent for a while, as if he was trying to come up with what to tell him. “I would say that even if he was interested, it wouldn’t be for long. The girls back there loved him though. My own guess… the best thing that happens is he fucks her, dumps her and then she will crawl back to you, realizing what she lost.”

Bohun nearly dropped the cigarette between his fingers. “She is not gonna sleep with him!”

“Jesus don’t scream at me, I didn’t say that will happen,” Jaszewski took a step back from him, rolling his eyes. It made Bohun feel almost nostalgic towards being in Pro Arte, nobody would dare to roll eyes at him to his face there. “Who knows, maybe she wises up soon,” Jaszewski shrugged. “Like honestly, what kind of a girl breaks up with someone who looks like you?”

“You can trust him, he’s an expert,” laughed Krzywonos and Jaszewski glared at him.

“Helena would never just sleep with some guy she barely knows,” Bohun shook his head. He tried to ignore the look Krzywonos and Jaszewski exchanged. Did they seriously think they knew her better than him?

“Not even to piss you off?” tried Maksym carefully.

“She already fucking pissed me off!” he stormed off without saying goodbye, sick talking about this and without any wish to also hear more colorful predictions.

It was him that should have been auditioning with Helena – for the good of both of them. Then she would start talking to him and by the end of the day maybe she would realize that avoiding him any longer is stupid and pointless. Wasn’t the summer enough? How long was this torture supposed to go on? Surely this couldn’t have been making her happy?

He mounted his motorbike and revved up the engine.

He knew of course that she avoided him and had no doubts about why. Everything she had said to him at the end of June was so carefully planned her words so well-rehearsed that Helena sounded more like she was convincing herself than him they shouldn’t be together (she could never convince him of that at any rate). He did fuck up the last time and Bohun gripped the handlebars of his motorcycle even harder when thinking about that, part of him just wishing he would crash full speed into a wall. Maybe after he was dead, Helena would forgive him. Maybe she would regret that in his last days they were apart.

But he had his helmet on so he probably wouldn't see the pearly gates today. Plus he had to see if he'd get anything good in this new ballet first. Priorities, right?

 

 


	5. Bohun and Helena recommend each other therapy

  
  


Jan was making his way through the theater halls which were full of people at this hour, passing Poniatowski and Bychowiec on his way out of the changing rooms. He came a little earlier to their morning class in hopes to have a chat with Helena but it nearly shocked him to find so many people there, until Jan realized Sicz also went to these classes. Polish National Ballet was a rather big ballet company for the country’s standards at least.

Helena waved at him the moment she spotted him, sitting alone next to a ladder that allowed any spectator to climb the tiny gallery spots to get the look an actual theater visitor would have. The ceiling was very high, and dust particles floated lazily in the air, reflecting the light of the morning sun shining through the windows on both sides. At least the ballroom was pleasantly warm although it would remain to be seen if the same thing could be said during the winter.

“Good morning,” he plopped down next to Helena, no longer worried about being too familiar. Part of him just wanted to kiss her again but he decided against it with so many people around and who definitely were watching him. Jan noticed two women whispering while stretching next to each other, staring his way without any subtlety. Jan passionately hated the ‘say hello and tell us something about yourself’ type of introductions, but now he almost wished Jeremi was here to force him through it so he wouldn't be viewed in question marks and speculations for the whole week.

“Hi,” Helena smiled and then yawned involuntarily, making the corners of Jan’s mouth twitch. “Sorry. I’m not really a morning person. I usually fully wake up only after ten.”

Jan looked at the clock hanging on the wall across. It was slightly after eight which meant they had almost ten minutes to spare. A group of people just walked through the door, a tall man with a buzz cut who in Jan’s opinion looked like he got lost and wandered here from the high-intensity gym near his flat, followed by unfamiliar faces. Except for the last two. Bohun arrived to class in the company of his read-headed friend, a man in his early thirties sporting a rather impressive amount of tattoos on his upper arms that could be clearly seen through his wide cut T-shirt and who strutted around as if he owned the place, giving the Pro Arte guys aimed looks as he walked by. They were nothing though to the look Bohun gave them when he saw him and Helena sitting together.

“So what do you think? When we will get the chance to dance together again?” Helena noticed Jan seemed distracted.

“Hopefully soon,” Jan smiled but his eyes kept sliding to Bohun who seemed frozen on the spot. Excitement rose in him at the thought of Bohun just walking over and starting something, although what would Jeremi think of such display on his second day was slightly worrying.

“Podbipieta has to come back to Wilno sometime this week so they might want us to do the pas de deux together again to help them decide,” he said those words slowly, unable to ignore the malevolent energy Bohun had been sending their way. Finally Jan couldn’t take it anymore and moved to sit side by side next to Helena, no longer obscuring her view so they both could see the offender to their peace clearly. “I might have to put that guy over there in line first. Did nobody teach him that it’s rude to stare?"

Helena turned her head towards the door, despite already knowing what she will see. “No,” she said as Bohun’s eyes met hers. “Don’t fight him. He’s terrible.” She frowned.

“Oh please,” Jan snorted disdainfully “what can he possibly do.”

Helena didn't know and that worried her. God, Bohun probably didn't know himself and that should be alarming enough for anybody.

In the past she was always able to stop him but now she wouldn't be there to pull him by the hand. What was worse, Helena knew exactly why he acted like that and this turn of events most likely only affirmed his skewed worldview that every man on Earth is out there to steal her from him. But a professional help was what Bohun actually needed, not her.

The doorway was starting to get a little crowded as more and more people attempted to bypass Bohun blocking the way. He finally tore away his gaze from them and went to join his friends.

“What’s gotten in his head anyway?”

She felt tremendous relief when Koniecpolski showed up a little earlier so she could avoid answering that. Their ballet master entered the room with a smile and waved when everybody started to greet him cheerfully as he was a rather popular man. There was no speech about being glad to see them back, the company’s plan for this year or other vital information they were all dying to hear. Koniecpolski rarely spoke at all as he couldn't get out more than a few words without stuttering. But in this profession explaining things through movement makes up the job. And he was very good at what he did, as a teacher in Pro Arte only bested by Wiśniowiecki.

Those who didn’t know him would never guess Koniecpolski was a rather wealthy benefactor to the theater and financially backed up the ballet academy as well, having Czaplinski there more or less as a puppet to enforce his ideas. At least that was what the rumors said, although Helena couldn’t say she had been paying much attention to them as of recently. The things she heard about Bohun for example were completely outrageous.

“That’s Stanisław Koniecpolski if you didn’t know,” Helena said and saw Jan’s eyes widen. The man actually gave him a long look but then just turned away as if nothing was amiss, although one would think otherwise from the way Jan’s face turned pale.

“Look,” Jan said, pointing to the tall figure of Podbipieta who just walked through the door in attempt to hide the embarrassment at seeing Koniecpolski, who at this point must have learned all about the short trip he provided Czaplinski with last week.

Podbipieta took a moment, obviously also shocked by the amount of people in there. A few surprised greetings came, atmosphere completely changed from sleepy and relaxed to a rather intensive one. Everybody in the room wanted to be noticed by the choreographer which instantly turned all the friends and colleagues into competitors.

Podbipieta spoke to Koniecpolski who listened intently and kept just nodding and nodding to the point it slightly started to worry their guest choreographer. A few people were exchanging looks with huge grins.

“So this is all fine with you? I really wouldn’t want to disturb.”

“Of… of… sure it is,” the man smiled and pointed at the chair behind him for Podbipieta to sit on.

Koniecpolski showed them the moves first, demonstrating with his body what exactly he wanted, sometimes specifying his instructions with the French names that were an inseparable part of ballet. They started with easy positions, still not fully limbered up from the summer. Jan tried to pay attention to Koniecpolski but he couldn’t help but assess his fellow dancers, trying to recognize someone more famous like Dogan Tuhaj or Elena Kunitskaya, both of which he knew from the few competitions  he attended as a kid.

Nothing unusual happened till the end where Koniecpolski began showing them short variations they were supposed to repeat after him in smaller groups. Jan and Helena slyly decided to move back so they could come last. Not being the only people who thought about that, Koniecpolski had to shout at the new groups to form.

“Come on!” the man put his hands on his hips. “We have no time for this!” Koniecpolski’s voice usually gained a lot more consistency when he was yelling corrections at them.

At the very front danced a tall man with slightly curly dark hair that Jan could swore must have been one of the most famous principals in Pro Arte. “Is that Radziwiłł?” He whispered to Helena.

“Hmmm,” she nodded but seemed to be concentrating intently on the group. Perhaps she didn’t know him very well.

Jan looked around to see if he'd have any luck recognizing Radziwiłł’s cousin Anna Maria who too belonged to the dancers he knew from Jeremi’s tales and who he actually saw perform years ago. Jeremi also briefly mentioned the other cousin duo, this time two Zbarazski girls, one soloist and one in the corps, both of whom he considered very promising. Jan spent the rest of their waiting time guessing which of the women looked alike enough to be them until Koniecpolski shouted ‘next’ again.

He was about to stand in the first row with Bychowiec appearing between him and Helena. Before the music could properly start though, Bohun just waltzed in and squeezed himself at the last moment in front of Bychowiec, completely overshadowing him. Bychowiec was forced to step back so Podbipieta could see him properly if not from as close as he’d wished. Jan felt angry at himself but there was no time to respond, not to mention it was expected of them to act in a certain way and kicking Bohun out of formation really didn’t fit with the program.

Still, Jan couldn’t imagine this ever happening in Krakow as it would mean total ostracism from other colleagues. Here the company was so divided that the usual companionship between the dancers didn’t really exist - at least not between Sicz and Pro Arte. The new recruits from the academy sometimes had the tendency to act like true prima donnas but what was Bohun’s excuse after being a professional for six years?

It was over as soon as it began. Jan had no idea if he managed to present his best, if Podbipieta was watching him at all or focused on somebody else. He had to concentrate on his own movements and couldn’t actually at the same time analyze his expression.

“Dude, what the fuck was that?!” Bychowiec appeared next to him, fuming.

“I think he did that because of me.”

“Yeah, of course. But who does he think he is!?” he shook his head and walked off to the changing rooms. Jan waved at Helena, who was staying for her class with Witowská, and followed him out.

He hadn't noticed how hot and stuffy the classroom's air was until he sat down on the bench between the lockers. He took out his phone to see a new text from Michal. Their previous conversation went sort of like this:

J: do you know any respectable clubs (needed for a date)

M: I dont know any respectable places bcs they lose their respectability the moment I walk in

J: :D :D :D :D

J: stay home on Saturday then and send me the names

J: please?

M: since u r asking so nicely

Michal sent him three places with one bracketed as ‘haven’t been there in years though’.

M: I wont even be in Warszawa, going to Budapeszt with A

Jan with a shock realized he completely forgot about Anusia being in Warszawa, despite initial plans to give her a call as soon as he got a new flat. The days when Jan and Michal competed over her were long gone – if anything, their occasional romantic trysts with her brought them closer, which was why he wrote:

J: say hi to her

Michal responded almost immediately.

M: I will ;)

M: should I record her face when she learns you have been in Warzsawa for a week and didnt call her?

J: omg no don’t say that

J: but well if you do, definitely record it for me lol

J: and good luck… with the competition and with A

M:  you too with the date

  
  


Jan put his phone back, deciding to visit the notice board to see if their schedule for the week was updated in any way. He hoped that roles would be assigned at least for Romeo and Juliet, which was in Pro Arte’s repertoire since last year and as such wasn’t supposed to change that much. Jeremi talked about giving him something since Jan had performed in it many times. He was slightly disappointed to see there were no updates but his attention was soon taken by two male voices arguing loudly, coming from the stage. He had hoped to take a look at it again anyway and the men’s class Jan was supposed to undertake afterwards took place in a room practically next to it.

He finally saw a young guy talking to a man who Jan assumed from the cargo pants and company’s signature black t-shirt, that it must have been some tech worker. He was pointing at the lights over the stage and scolding the kid.  

“I may be the youngest here but that doesn’t make me anybody’s punching bag. I didn’t do anything wrong!” He was defending his honor in a rather comical matter, flailing hands around.

The man pointed his finger at him, nearly jabbing the boy in the chest with it. “Lets see how you sleep at night when it falls on someone during rehearsal and kills them! You are seventeen! Do you realize that all responsibility falls on me? I won’t go to prison because of your negligence!”

“Jesus, I told you I was there. I checked it. Just because I’m faster than the other guys it doesn’t mean I cannot do it properly. I do this shit in our school all the time, man. Come on!”

“You will go to prison one day, Rzędzian, I swear.”

Jan decided he witnessed enough of drama for this day and turned on his heel. He almost reached the classroom but the boy suddenly appeared in front of him, walking backwards with a grin.

"So you are the new addition?" he asked Jan without any hesitation or introduction. He had a rather chubby face and his curly locks made Jan think of cartoon cupids all over the shopping malls in February. But this angel apparently wasn’t there to shoot love arrows.

"I have been meaning to talk to you, show you around, and all of that. But someone smart as you probably has it all figured out already, huh?” He gave Jan zero time to respond. “Just wanted to tell you that if you need something to help yourself with, let’s just say I know a guy called Rzędzian who can get you anything you want and he is standing right in front of you." He stopped and pointed proudly at his chest.

"Are you seriously selling me weed right now?” Jan wheezed, trying to contain his laugh and failing.

“I serve the people,” Rzędzian clicked his heels together and saluted. He relaxed immediately and shoved hands in his pockets. “Yeah sure, I can get you that too but I had in mind something of the pharmaceutical area if you know what I mean. Something your doctor maybe thinks you don't need that badly or maybe you didn't really want to scare him when you were saying how much your back hurts. You know, instead of pointing at the crying smiley face you just pointed at the one only smiling slightly and now you are stuck with weak shit like codeine."

This guy knew dancers almost too well. Jan was slightly taken aback, the cupid impression burning away in front of his eyes.

"Thanks for the offer but I don’t need any of that.”

"Nothing is bothering you. Good for you!" said Rzędzian with obvious disappointment.

"Don’t worry. You will be the first I go to when I have a problem.” God, Jan seriously hoped it wouldn't ever come to that. He knew some people who thought painkillers were like vitamins to chug every morning with orange juice. If they even drank something like that of course, eating disorders were still a thing in ballet, no matter how much everybody kept saying that times have changed. If things were changing, they were changing slowly.

"And you will be dancing under what master?"

"Wiśniowiecki of course. I’m from Pro arte vivas." It felt good to officially say that.

This seemed to cheer up Rzędzian, who waved his hand dismissively. "Oh then you will need some anyway.”

He flashed him a smile, solidifying Jan’s opinion there was something seriously wrong with him, and went back, most to likely fix what his boss was screaming about just five minutes ago. Jan felt relieved that he wouldn't have to worry about being brutally flattened by one of the stage lights.

With his life taking such a good turn recently, he really didn’t feel like dying.

-

-

On Thursday, they all gathered in front of the board to see the assigned main roles. The side roles would be decided later on, the premiere planned for as far as the end of the next season. Given Podbipieta’s limited time to teach and rehearse, a year didn’t seem like such a long time to produce this ballet even if Jan knew he could learn a thing in three weeks or less. However, he had no experience with staging a completely new full-story ballet.

As he came closer to the board, his heart started beating faster in anticipation. From the looks the people gathered around gave him, Jan’s name definitely figured there somewhere. He actually laughed, completely overwhelmed with joy, when he saw.

Next to the name of a Polish soldier Tadeusz was his, followed with Helena Kurcewiczóvna as Ieva, the famous resistance fighter from Wilno. This was almost too good to be true. They were only the second cast, meaning the premiere would be left to Wierzsul, Skoropadzka and Bychowiec, as Jan learned before he got to his own name, but it still was such an honor to be a part of it and…

In the third line of the second cast was written: Jurko Bohun.

“Mate! MATE! YOU GOT RYTAS!” The crazy redhead pointed at the board. Jan turned to see Bohun standing further in the crowd.

“WITH WHOM?” He shouted back.

“KURCEWICZÓWNA AND SKRZETUSKI!”

A grin broke on Bohun’s face and Jan was caught off guard by the purity of that expression. Dimples formed in his cheeks as he smiled, eyes nearly closed for how wide his smile was, face flushed from excitement. It seemed as if he lost a few years. For the first time he noticed Bohun had a rather delicate face, no strong jaw to talk about, the stubble on his cheeks creating an illusion of wider features. Jan always remembered him as a handsome guy but absolutely nothing could prepare him for the way he looked now. He was like a painted picture and Jan with sinking feeling in his chest realized it was the information that he would be dancing with Helena that made him that way, not getting the role alone.

Until now he assumed Bohun was starting shit with him simply because he was his direct replacement, Helena being just an excuse. But looking at him now, there was no other explanation. He was in love with her.

Jan opened his phone to text Helena the great news. He paused for a while, wondering if he should mention Bohun will be dancing the third role with them, but then decided it wasn’t really important.

After some thought, he added:

J: we will celebrate properly on Saturday ;)

He only made like three steps before his phone started buzzing like crazy. Jan couldn’t help but laugh.

-

-

Helena slowly reached for the blanket, feeling cold. Only when it was again properly wrapped around her body, she decided to slowly open her eyes.

There was a moment when she had absolutely no idea where she was and why the first thing she saw was a picture of some bird until she blinked a few times and recognized Jan lying alongside her with his back turned to Helena.

She moved a little closer, properly studying the black ink tattoo that covered Jan’s whole upper back, the falcon’s wings stretched as far as to his shoulders so it almost looked like he himself had wings. It was beautifully made with such detail that the animal almost looked alive. Only the eye had been inked into his skin in white color, making her wonder if the falcon was supposed to be blind. She hoped to ask him about it next time, if there would be any next time of course.

Helena wasn’t that naive. Jan always spoke to her with such an ease she knew it had to be learned with practice. He always seemed to know all the right things to do and say and she couldn’t help but think of the girls he must have said those things to before her. She wondered how long it would take until he found someone else to say them to.

Helena would expect regret or perhaps even shame that she just jumped into bed with a boy she barely knew but in reality that was not how she felt at all. She thought this was the first time in her life when she wanted something and instead of stressing about it or telling herself she can’t, Helena simply reached with her hand and took.

And did it feel good to take what you wanted.

Jan slowly turned around, most likely sensing she was awake. He looked at her sleepily, a tuff of hair falling into his face. She reached to move it from his forehead and he caught her hand, kissing it.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, smiling at her and Helena almost wished he wasn’t so good to her, that he didn’t look at her with those eyes, didn’t look like this, so pretty and absolutely enamored with her.

“I did. What about you?” He was playing with her hair, making a ring of it on his finger. Helena knew she should get it cut soon or it would get too heavy and start slipping out of her bun like it did during the audition.

“Couldn’t be better. Are you hungry?”

-

Jan was throwing the doors of his cupboards open, lamenting over their mostly empty contents. It was painfully visible he just moved it. The only possible breakfast food was an unopened box of some vitamin drink on the counter and max-sized bag of rolled oats. Just lovely.

“You know what, I’m gonna buy us some breakfast,” he said, embarrassed that he hadn't thought of this. He didn’t even have wine at home, living like some sort of animal.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Helena waved her hand. “I can just go, you know. You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

“Heading out already?” Jan paused. “I thought we could have a lunch or something and then I would drive you home.”

“I...okay.”

Jan felt something breaking his heart at her surprise. He thought everything he had done implied he liked her but she apparently still couldn’t believe he just didn’t want to sleep with her. Helena was looking around with wide eyes and uncertainty on her face. He desperately wanted to make her feel at ease again but couldn’t really find how.

“Hey, if I did something wrong, please tell me. You can be honest with me, I can take it. I’m a tough guy, you know, I do ballet.” Jan grinned and Helena actually snorted in response. He was happy to see her smile again, the tightness in his heart gone. He could look at her all day.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I enjoyed last night very much,” she blushed and Jan kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her, thanking God that he had asked.

“So will you stay? You still haven’t told me about that Nutcracker where the doll broke mid-dance. The worst thing that ever happened to us was Claras nearly murdering each other but that was off-stage.”

“I’d like to stay. But I need to be home by three so I can get ready for my practice.”

“That leaves us with plenty of time,” grinned Jan, making Helena think he had some very specific ideas how to spend it. She smiled at him innocently, pretending she didn’t know what he meant.

“So you practice with your aunt during the weekends?”

Helena’s smile began to look slightly strained. “Actually...”

-

Bohun was let inside the house by Symeon, who only lazily asked him about the start of the season and then disappeared upstairs, trusted to find the ballroom on his own. He'd spent many years of being more than a regular visitor here, after all. Helena was already waiting there for him, stretching on the ground in sweatpants and a red t-shirt accusing her of being a part of Kurcewiczóvna’s school for young ballerinas.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“You look great,” said Bohun carefully but it almost made him laugh when her face turned crimson and she looked the other way. He immediately started to feel a little lighthearted, sensing that his banishment time was about to end. He took off his jacket and watched her continue in her stretches, having to control himself badly to not just fall to his knees next to her and beg for forgiveness. But the possibility of ruining everything again for another two months was enough to force him to keep his dignity for now.

Helena really did seem well-rested today and he was glad at least someone was getting a good night’s sleep. Horpyna wanted him to practice The Taming of the Shrew with her, Bohun serving as a hand of judgment whether she was being too melodramatic. It had ended, like it always did, with the two of them drinking and complaining about women.

“I wish I were straight,” proclaimed Horpyna and propped her legs on their three-legged table, making the script nearly fall down. “Men are so easy. So dumb. I can make them do anything I want. You just giggle stupidly and show your tits a bit, and look – you have made yourself a dutiful servant for life… or at least until other better bigger tits come into picture.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to really worry about that.”

“Women though? No. It’s pointless. They are complex beings.” She took a big gulp from the bottle and passed it back to Bohun.

“Why doesn’t she want to talk to me?” Bohun whined after a moment, pulling at his hair in the process.

Horpyna narrowed her eyes. “Because you crawled to her again, not doing anything I said! You should take the prettiest girl there -” she looked ready to snap when he opened his mouth to interrupt “- NOT HER and just date that woman out of spite. Make sure to lick her tonsils every time she is around and you will see how fast the princess changes her mind about you two being over!”

“But I don’t want anyone else! I love  _her_! Don’t you get it? And even when I tried… I told you what happened when I tried.”

Bohun didn’t want to think of his drunken attempts this summer, it only made him feel depressed. Every time he saw dark eyes, he could only think of her, and no matter how beautiful the person trying to get his attention was, the only thing they made him feel was grief and regret. That kind which usually made him want to change the direction in which he was going and just hurl himself into Visla.

“That’s all in your head! I swear she cursed you or something so you cannot function.”

“I can function just fine but I don’t want anyone else. Why can’t you understand?”

Horpyna just shook her head and opened her laptop, possibly to check out new dutiful servants on Instagram. Her plan to become a social media influencer dealing with occult things and blogging about astrology had been going well so far. She didn’t even have to scam people for money anymore.

“I see you have a new obsession with the Krakow ballet.”

Bohun paused with the bottle hanging in front of his mouth. “What?”

“You still haven’t figured out how to delete your internet history.”

“I did. I do that.”

“So why does this keep popping up in my recommendations?”

She turned the laptop to show him a video Bohun was already familiar with. It was Krakow ballet’s production of Chopiniana, otherwise known as Les Sylphides, with  _Skrzat_. It must have been a breaking point in his career as this part usually belonged to principals. From the limited amount of material Bohun got the chance to see, Skrzetuski was rather impressive in the way he managed to play roles that were usually left to older and more experienced guys. A naive young man may have been his forte but he could manage darker characters. He didn’t move with power or emotion. It was just so elegant, as if he was watching the dance in slow motion but of course the moves were executed at normal speed. This guy purposely took his time, impressive in his patience. Being on stage was a fight with the clock and to do everything the way he wanted Bohun sometimes felt he didn't have enough space. Skrzetuski made it look easy, like there was no hurry in the world.

Technically though, Bohun knew he was way superior. Jeremi made sure of that. Anything Wiśniowiecki produced was on a much higher level than the performance they just saw.

”Know your enemy,” he said weakly with eyes on  _Skrzat_ , now holding hands in the air with two other ballerinas, looking like an overgrown tree. Bohun concluded Skrzetuski must have been a replacement here too and smiled bitterly. He couldn’t imagine the choreographer purposely putting a guy this freakishly tall next to two relatively short girls.

“And what have you learned so far?”

“That there’s Jan Skrzetuski of the same name who owns a real estate firm. That there’s a street named after some Skrzetuski in Poznań and hmm… yes, he was promoted to a soloist two years ago.”

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know. Like me? You know I was nineteen, when they promoted me.”

There was no ‘they’ back then, only Jeremi. He was a terrible director but nobody could say that it didn’t bring results. Bohun put the bottle down, fighting the urge to go throw up in the sink, despite being barely drunk.

“He’s pretty but kind of bland.”

“He won’t be so pretty when I’m finished with him,” Bohun said through his teeth.

He wasn’t thinking of Skrzetuski now, putting his jacket on a hanger and phone on the windowsill. Something else caught this attention.

The black hoodie was neatly folded on the mat, looking freshly laundered. Bohun stared at it, stuck, his gym bag hanging a few centimeters over the ground.

“Found it. Sorry if you were looking for it,” said Helena, bending over her legs.

“Keep it,” said Bohun softly, obviously waiting till she looks at him, but Helena refused to do anything like that, not wanting to see the well-known expression of his – watery eyes and all that. Especially today she was not ready for that and would postpone it as long as possible.

Bohun then began to undress, pulling off the shorts he had been wearing over his black tights, making Helena seriously wonder why he got so dressed up for this practice, hoping her suspicions were deadly wrong.

“I guess I will ask Mikołaj if he wants it,” she said nonchalantly, actually pretty sure Mikołaj would laugh at her if she suggested something like that. Bohun must have known that too because he snorted incredulously and as she turned on her back, Helena could see him roll his eyes and then smile.

His almost fond smile only created a new wave of fury inside her, outrage at him interpreting this as if she really wanted to keep his smelly clothes. With her elbows propping her body, Helena began lifting her leg up, looking at Bohun with a hard, unwavering look in her eyes that she hoped said ‘fuck you’ clearly enough. “Think it over. I know this one was expensive.”

“I TOLD YOU I DON’T WANT IT!” he screamed, face crimson in outrage. One of his eyes twitched and for a second she thought he would walk over to her, almost wished he would, so she could finally properly hate him, without any betraying memories, find a reason to quit and never have to see him again.

Instead he took off his shirt, threw it on the ground like a child having tantrum and started stretching with the intensity of someone trying to pull a muscle, his back turned towards her. It was painful to watch.

She had to fight the urge to tell him to stop so he wouldn't hurt himself.

“We have a couple of months for this so I would leave our training at twice a month. Just let me know if something comes up. We can always re-schedule and most of the stuff can be rehearsed even at the academy.” She was referring to her aunt’s school, even if it wasn’t an official academy like the one Pro Arte had, people called it like that while the actual academy was simply ‘school’. Helena doubted aunt would ever wish to lead something like that, her resolution to stay as far from the ballet world as her love for dancing allowed her still unwavering.

“We can practice more often if you want. Or just...” and now Bohun trailed off, looking up to her slowly as if he suddenly forgot what to say altogether.

“We shouldn’t over-practice.”

“There is no such thing. You can only get better.”

“And I want some free time too.”

“For what?” he said after a while, voice dangerously low.

“I do not have to tell you about everything I do.”

That seemed to be the end but he was agitated for the rest of their practice and distracted to the point she thought of just quitting early. Everybody could have a bad day once in a while but Helena knew this was because of their conversation. He either would get used to it or she would have to give up the festival. But who else to choreograph this to? Not to mention the whole thing was in her head tailored to her  _and_ Bohun.

No, she shouldn’t lie to herself. He was the best dancer she could get her hands on and he would simply lift anything one level higher just by dancing it. It would be stupid to give up that. The thoughts of doing the piece with someone else were the same thing like thinking of quitting the training with Aunt. She refused to throw away the only advantage living with her possessed.

Now that they were up close, Bohun felt his anger slipping away, feeling pretty light-headed just by touching her and being close to her after so long. They went over the marking before the summer more or less but for this part they were going half out, only the truly difficult jumps and lifts turned into simplified shadows of what they would be once they were done.

He felt so happy like this, so at peace with himself as he watched her movements, making sure to lead her the way they figured out for it. His knee took all the lifts in stride but even if it didn’t Bohun wasn’t sure he’d feel any pain.  

He remembered how she told him to meet her after the festival last season. For him the following days after their performance were spent mostly lying in bed, listening to depressing music and wishing for a quick and painless death so he could escape the hopelessness he felt after he humiliated himself in front of everybody and ruined both of their chances at recognition. Every step he took off music was painful, accompanied by the pain in his knee which just didn’t have enough time to heal.

Afterwards Bohun expected some reproach from old Kurcewiczóvna, followed by Helena with a somber expression telling him that their partnership was beyond salvation and maybe breaking up with him for being so weird lately. His chest tightened painfully every time he thought about that, trying to convince himself that Helena loved him and that she would never break up with him because of one poor performance. She knew he was injured, he remembered the face she made when he told her, the realization Helena must have had come to that if he wouldn't be at his best they had a very small chance of captivating someone from abroad.

But she didn’t speak a word about the caricature of a dance he did. Instead she sat with him in the dressing room for the longest time, silent, just watching him pull at his hair and walk circles in the closeted space. After what seemed like forever she said:

“Why don’t you just tell me what happened?”

He gave her a look of utter desperation. He couldn’t tell her! He just couldn’t. The words wouldn't come out of his mouth. Because if they did, the last thing holding him together would escape from him too and that was the person he tried to be for Helena – calmer, better, less damaged version of the real thing that hid under his skin and only wanted the world to burn. He could already see the horror in her eyes, fear like when she saw… when she saw what he could do, the thing Bohun was bound to do from the day his world collapsed on itself.

What would she say if he just vomited out everything about himself to her… about what Jeremi did to him, how he tried to kill all the good things ballet made him feel, how he mentioned his father, how could he evertell her about his father, why he sometimes didn’t sleep at night when thinking about him falling asleep and waking up every day, proving that no justice really existed in this world. How he still felt as something less when surrounded by people like her. How he was afraid she wouldn’t understand because how could she? How could she know when her life was so different?

Bohun himself didn’t understand that he’d rather make her hate him on his own terms than see the hatred in her eyes after revealing what was really going on inside his head.

He remembered how Helena stood in front of him, chin turned up to look him in the eyes. She touched his shoulder and Bohun flinched involuntarily, making her grimace.

“Why can’t you tell me?” she asked again, wetness in her dark yes. “If you are somehow sick, I will try to understand, I swear-”

“Sick? I don’t have any sickness. Don’t be ridiculous,” he said with a flash of anger in his eyes. “I just failed. Don’t try to find an excuse for it.”

Helena glared at him. “So I’m supposed to just sit and wait till you get your shit together!?”

“Get my shit together?! I would be glad to! Do you have any idea what this means to me? Do you think I just woke up today and decided to show everybody what a failure I am! Everybody fucking saw!”

“No! I have enough, do you understand? Stop. Avoiding. It. Tell me right now what you did so Wiśniowiecki kicked you out of Pro arte!”

There was only silence with Bohun staring at her with parted lips, no sound coming out. But Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore, only trying to catch her breath after shouting. Her voice was much calmer now but even more desperate when she spoke again.

“Something has been going on. You are all over the place with this anger of yours and it’s getting worse and worse. I can see it, you know, that you couldn't keep yourself together and just took it out on the wrong person. And that’s why you are now dancing under Chmiel. In the corps even – after all the hard work you did!”

“Is this really what you think?” Bohun whispered hoarsely.

“You have a real problem with controlling yourself. You know this! So why aren’t you doing something with? Go to a therapist or something!”

“So this is what you meant?” he smiled in disgust, walking towards her. “That I’m sick in the head?” His face was centimeters from her when he said snidely: “Why don’t  _you_ go to a therapist, so they can help you stop being frightened of your stupid old aunt and to not act like a victim for once!”

Helena tried to push him away but he grabbed both of her hands quickly.

“Leave me!” she said with a contempt, glaring into his eyes. He didn’t budge. “LEAVE ME!” This time she had tears of anger – not grief running down her cheeks. Helena rarely ever cried when she was sad or afraid but it sometimes took one snide word from her aunt for her to get all choked up. Bohun would give everything he had to see Kniahini’s face when one day Helena would snap and start talking back. She managed to mess up her head pretty bad but just like him she would open her eyes one day and see her for who she is – a bitter older woman projecting her own issues on someone else.

He just hoped she would come to that conclusion in time. Bohun was too late.

Suddenly he realized what he was doing, the way he was holding her wrists so hard, and let them slip from his hands and took a step back, for a second horrified, as if he got some glimpse of a future and past at the same time.

He left, grabbing his things without a care, and walked all the way home on his feet in hopes the cold air would blow some sense into him or take away whatever evil possessed him to act that way.

No reproach came when she called him two days later. She just wanted to know when he was coming over so they could talk. Bohun feared that conversation as few things in his life.

But the moment he saw her, he knew Helena was no longer angry. She could be stubborn to the point of driving him insane which was why the way she was looking at him now struck him so much, feeling nearly startled when her arms wrapped around him. He kissed her and for the first time in forever he sensed something stir inside him, actually felt the hunger when she pressed against his body. They didn’t even get to the actual practice till an hour later, but both in a much improved mood, they left the failed performance unmentioned.

“Aunt would be livid if she came home now and found us here instead of the ballroom,” Helena said while closing the door to her room behind her.

Bohun’s proposed response was too terrible and truthful to repeat in polite company.

“No you would never say that – and no, this is not a dare I swear I won’t ever speak to you if you answer with this. And you really should stop calling her mother.”

“Well she might be like a mother to me sooner or later -”

“I so did not just hear what I heard!” shouted Helena, not looking back at him while they were walking down the stars back to the ballroom. Bohun rolled his eyes, smiling at the silly thought of them ever being anything else than together.

“So I have been trying to find good music for our next year’s number,” said Helena cheerfully, cheeks still red, and he felt so much love for her in that moment he thought his heart would burst. Not only did she want to continue dancing with him, she immediately decided to work on a new number. There really was no one else like her, he thought, knowing deep down he didn’t deserve such kindness. He sat next to Helena on the mat where she was stretching her legs, mirroring what she did without really thinking about it, and took the headphones from her.

“Is it the first one?”

“I like the first one the most but there are like four others in the folder that would be good too.”

Helena slowly got up without looking at Bohun, hoping to avoid seeing any emotions on his face while he listened to the music she picked up.

“I know what you meant.”

She turned back, a little startled. Bohun stood up, leaving the iPod on the mat.

“We would end up apart at the end, right?”

Helena was a little caught off guard. “In the first song? I actually haven’t imagined the end properly yet because the music needs some editing there. But in theory, yes?”

“I mean the lyrics don’t say whether they stay together or not. But it would be more dramatic if we ended on the opposite sides as we started.”

Helena was pleased he took onto the song so fast to already come up with ideas and suggestions.

“And do something like  _Saut de Basque_  to get there?” she asked and then with back turned towards him immediately made a turning jump with one leg at the square, facing him while landing on another leg with foot resting on her knee.

“Do you want to finish facing the crowd?”

“God no,” said Helena, hands covering her face, imagining all the judging eyes, her aunt between them. “But we have to. We must.” She said again with resolution in her eyes.

Bohun personally thought the applause and excited faces of all the people was the best part, the final gratification of hundreds hours of work but he knew Helena was always paralyzed with fear at the end, of the reaction they would have, relaxing and getting the kick out of a good performance only after they were leaving the stage. He wondered if this year it would change.

Bohun wasn’t aware that Helena had been remembering the same events, watching him out of the corner of her eye dress up as their practice had ended, and – as expected – avoid his old hoodie like the plague. How his excitement back then should have been suspicious to her. A week later, he came with dark circles under his eyes, unable to talk about anything, just blindly doing moves she told him, bringing absolutely nothing new to the table. After they fought so hard to do the choreography on their own he seemed to loose interest completely. It was like a dark cloud set over Bohun but instead of leaving after few hours, it stayed for weeks.


	6. Bohun tries to fix things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It goes as well as expected.

Just like that, Skrzetuski was everywhere. Morning class? Giggling with Helena in the corner. Lunch? ‘No, I can’t. I already promised someone I will go with them.’ Afternoon Pilates? Skrzetuski was lying on his back with his legs in the air and finding his inner peace, with Bohun a few spots away fantasizing about the ways he would strangle him on his yoga mat. But the true agony began when he spotted Helena watching  _Skrzat_  too, usually a dreamy expression on her face, shifting from one individual exercise to another a few seconds later than everybody else.

She wouldn’t pick his phone when he called during the weekends and when he willed himself to text a few times, Helena usually responded with one word, making Bohun see white. Thankfully, he was so busy with being fully involved in Chmielnicki’s rehearsals that he didn’t have much time to mope around or get drunk after work. But another weekend was approaching – the last before the theater's first performance this season – and Bohun’s plans were getting clearer and clearer.

One morning Krzywonos came to class late, making Chmielnicki lift his eyebrows so high they would have disappeared under his hairline if it over the years hadn't moved to the middle of his head.

“Good morning. I’m sorry that I’m late. But hear this.” He spread his arms in expectation, a grin breaking on his face. “I. AM. GOING. TO. BE. A FATHER!”  He screamed those words with the same tone and grimace a person who had just murdered someone would. Few people cheered but most were too shocked to say a word. Bohun was grinning, hitting Krzywonos on the shoulder while few other guys cornered him and began asking questions.

“Good Lord,” said Chmielnicki and crossed himself. Even Kunitskaya, Maksym's dancing partner, had eyes bulging out of her head at the announcement, although she too walked over to congratulate him.

“With whom?” Dabizha said with horror, hands still frozen on the ribbons of her pointe shoes.

“With my girlfriend of course!” Maksym stepped out of the circle that surrounded him and narrowed his eyes at Dabizha as if she were simple.

“You have… you have a girlfriend?”

“OH YES!” He laughed again. “ANOTHER ANNOUNCEMENT: I’M GETTING MARRIED!”

“Maksym, are you done?! You couldn’t have waited the fifteen minutes until the class was over and then say this?”

“Oh, Bohdan, I’m sorry. But did you hear what I just said? I’m going to be a dad!!” he beamed at Chmielnicki who was shaking his head. In the end he came over to him too, giving up any attempt at trying to get them back to work, and began scolding Krzywonos about being responsible. It was rather off-the-wall coming from Chmielnicki, even with the three kids he had.

“I thought you already have one son?” Jaszewski pointed at Bohun, snickering, when Krzywonos escaped Chmielnicki’s fatherly advice.

Bohun sighed. “You are an idiot.”

Krzywonos had taken him under his wing the moment Bohun had joined Sicz. Against all odds, he felt no spite towards him for being almost ten years younger and bound to sooner than later replace him in the spotlight. The man went out of his way to put in line guys that didn't have any better ideas than to ask him stupid shit about Jeremi, and managed to break off some of Bohun’s more violent attempts at gaining respect there. Sicz was full of former Pro Arte men but mostly corps members who resented Bohun for hogging the first soloist rank for so long there, not to mention they couldn’t forgive him for being favored by Jerema in getting roles. It had to be one of the reasons why they deserted. They were also right to fear this happening here too. Chmielnicki had been pretty much in love with him since he'd seen him perform at fifteen.

Ironically, after he proved his worth in the company, he became almost popular thanks to the renouncement of Jeremi. Guys randomly started conversations with him during rehearsals, and the teasing shifted into a good-natured one. Bohun was relieved that the period of hostility had passed, as he still remembered clearly the jabs at his clothes and regular absence of cash when he was in the academy, finding out too late that ballet was an art favored by the rich more often than not. Even worse that in Warszawa it seemed to be a family tradition and nepotism moved this world too much for Bohun’s own comfort.

“Jurko, ignore him, he thinks he can say anything he wants, being a minority,” Krzywonos put his arm around Bohun’s neck. He then pointed at Jaszewski. “But careful… careful, little guy. Don’t provoke this one.”

“It’s hilarious that you think straight people are in the majority here,” Jaszewski smirked and gave Bohun a look. Was he imagining things or had Jaszewski decided over the summer they were friends? He was one of the more suspicious types when Bohun arrived although he never dared to say anything to his face.

“So you guys will join the celebration tomorrow, right? I was feeling shitty for not getting anything in that new ballet but let me tell you I can’t find myself giving a crap now. Being a parent really changes your perception, I guess. You see what is important. And grandma would have a stroke if she found out I’m playing some Lithuanian Nazi.”

“You are not a parent yet,” Bohun laughed.

“And you are still one crazy fucker, so nothing really changed,” added Jaszewski.

After they moved their discussion to the dressing room and agreed to get plastered with Krzywonos on Friday, Chmielnicki came over to speak with him. Bohun followed the man into to the corridor, in his mind already entering the shower at home and sighing happily as the cold water ran over his aching back and fucked up leg.

“What a news, huh? Please promise me that you won’t ruin my class when you decide to knock someone up.”

Bohun wisely avoided this train of thought as he usually did when Burłaj spoke about ‘grandchildren’ or when he saw Helena coo at someone's baby in a stroller.

“Since you got the role in Podbipieta’s Zerwikaptur, I want you to meet someone.” Chmielnicki smiled encouragingly and let Bohun through the corridor, knocking on one of the unmarked doors until they came face to face with an old slender man with gray hair, dressed in a white T-shirt and trousers.

“Hello, Bohdan.” He sized Bohun up. “So this is the one you talked about? With the knee?”

“Shit,” Bohun whispered. Chmielnicki patted him on the shoulder to calm him down and possibly to stop him from taking off. “Please tell me you aren’t scared. Last time I held Timofiej's hand when he was getting shots, he bit me. Don’t make me go through that again.”

“You are not going with us,” said Eljazsenko, giving Chmielnicki a look as if he was doubting his sanity.

Bohun stared at Chmiel for a while but seeing the man was serious, not even smiling anymore, he followed Eljazsenko into the rehabilitation room, taking off his T-shirt and pants swiftly when the door closed.

“Straight to the point, I see.”

Bohun shrugged. “Should I lie on the bed?”

There wasn’t anything unusual about the procedure and Bohun stared at the ceiling defiantly as the man touched his legs and made him do short exercises to find out where the damage was the worst.

“Do you wear a brace?”

Bohun lifted his head to stare at him. “Not where anyone can see. Especially not  _him._ ”

“Does this hurt?” Eljazsenko shifted his right kneecap from side to side.

“Not much.”

“It shouldn’t hurt you at all. And I know how’s ‘not much’ with you guys.”

“I ice it whenever I can. Been doing everything to the left.”

“You are putting all your weight on one leg, that’s never good.”

As if Bohun didn’t know that. “I’m as good on the left one as on the right one. I won’t get injured.”

“You had to get injured somehow in the first place so try to think up some better excuse, huh?”

Bohun pressed his lips tightly together, the vein on his neck visible as he was trying to not respond to that in any irreparable way.

The sound of keyboard typing, loud and punctuated, filled the small room.

“So what are you gonna do? Are you gonna prescribe me something like Tralgit or Tramal?”

"I cannot prescribe you anything, I’m not a doctor.” He stopped typing and spun in his chair to look knowingly at Bohun. “You know you will ruin your liver with taking that shit regularly. And given you definitely take off-market medication, I wouldn’t recommend you asking for more.”

"If I was prescribed something that actually works, I wouldn't need to."

"What do you take? Honestly."

Bohun told him.

"You realize that you cannot go on like this?”

Bohun sat up abruptly and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"I need to dance! Now!” He couldn’t stomach the man’s words, couldn’t accept them. “I won't be any younger. Allegedly, you have been doing this for a long time so you must understand I will be old in a few years! And nobody is going to give a shit about me when that happens! I’m only becoming a principal now – I'm not the talent everybody thought I would be. Last year, I already went into decline because of my injuries."

"So you don't care that surgeries await you. You don't care that you won't be able to dance longer."

Bohun wasn’t looking at him, just staring at the wall, and spoke through his teeth.

"So what? I could get hit by a car tomorrow. I must dance now, I cannot think of what happens afterwards. Better make the best of what I have now."

"You are foolish,” the man sighed. “You will know what health means when you lose it completely. And when you are in pain even when lying in your bed without doing anything for the whole day, I want you to remember this conversation."

"That’s already happening to me," Bohun growled and stood up, ready to put clothes hastily on.

“Wait,” the old man said, standing up to come to him as if he could stop him from leaving if Bohun decided to go. “Come next week. Around this hour if you don’t have a rehearsal.”

Bohun stood there with his T-shirt in his hands, staring at the man.

“You would be stupid not to. It’s free. And continue doing Pilates.”

 _Fucking_ _P_ _ilates_ , thought Bohun. He felt like he wasn’t doing anything else. It bore him to no end but begrudgingly he admitted it did make him feel better.

“Goodbye,” he said with his back turned towards Eljazsenko.

-

Jan and Helena were sitting across each other on the floor of Jan’s flat, bending forwards to eat out of the take-out boxes lying between them, the feet of their spread legs touching To people unfamiliar with dancers, this might have been a rather odd sight but the two didn’t even bother to think about it.

“This is great,” said Helena, pointing with the sticks at her food. “We never order anything like this. Aunt is convinced all food not made at home or in our canteen will either make me fat or push me towards anorexia.”

Jan’s mouth was full of soba noodles for him to properly reply. Helena reached for the carrot piece stuck on his chin but he ate it from her outstretched fingers before she could do anything else with it.

“I’m glad I’ve found someone who loves food the same way I do,” she laughed. “Sucks we have to watch ourselves so much.”

Jan nodded, swallowing the huge bite. “I once had a great burger in Lviv. Was there with my father like three years ago. Sometimes when I’m really hungry, I close my eyes and I can still see it in detail, can practically taste it on my tongue or even smell it. Have to go back there one day,” he let out an embarrassed laugh when their eyes met, thinking he perhaps sounded as if he was in love with the burger.

Helena was smiling,  “So you were there on a holiday?”

Jan smiled too but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It was just a business trip for a few days. But I thankfully got a lot of time to look around on my own.” After a pause he said almost conspiratorially:

“I have seen a ballet there.”

“Oh, really? What?”

“Figaro. Amazing, by the way, even though I didn’t actually know any of the dancers. But I had no idea if they would let me see it till the last minute. The website had no tickets available online so I went to the booth, already dressed up, to see if there were still some free seats or… and I’m little ashamed to admit this, if I could beg out a discreet standing place on the ticket seller since I’m a young ballet student, so eager to learn new things, just so so in love with the art...”

“So you sweet-talked some old lady into letting you in,” Helena smirked and pointed her chopsticks at Jan. “I can totally see it.”

“You don’t understand. I overdid it. She wouldn’t even let me pay, telling me how great it is that I love ballet, so rare to see young men interested in the art these days. I was completely embarrassed when we got to the balcony – yes, that’s right, I basically got a VIP seat for being nice to some lady and speaking a little Ukrainian.”

“You know Ukrainian?” Helena asked, eyes wide. “My grandparents on dad’s side were from Ukraine. But I don’t really know how to speak all that well.” And if she learned anything, it definitely wasn’t from her aunt.

“Just the very basics but I do try.  As a kid I had a nanny, Irina, who was from Ukraine. Dad actually encouraged her to speak to me so I could use it one day when working with outside branches. The more languages you know...”

“What does your father make business in?”

“He leads Skrzetushevo,” said Jan blandly. He watched Helena’s surprised face, could literally see her making the connection with his last name – as every other person Jan told before because this was one of the biggest development companies in Poland, having regional branches in Ukraine, Lithuania and, if everything went well, also in Germany. Few people hadn’t heard of it before.

Helena snatched the last piece of their lunch, a lone kale leaf contrasting with the white of styrofoam. “So it’s a family firm?”

Jan had to give it to her she recovered quickly. “Yeah, most of my relatives work there. It was founded by my great grandfather but the communists took over everything so after the regime fell father re-established it and began getting all the properties back.”

If Helena wanted to say something, she was interrupted by her phone buzzing on the counter. She rose up, and Jan with her to help her with putting all the boxes and bags away.

“Oh, God,” she said with disgust. Jan looked over her shoulder, seeing the name Bohun with three exclamation points at the top of the conversation, followed by what could only be classified as a terrible crime against the Polish language.

B: Be ceraful aqout hath guy

B: I haev neard he is a reel slut

B: Let me koow if he obterhs oyu

“Wow.” Jan sounded almost impressed. “I wouldn’t want to see his grades.”

“He’s dyslectic,” Helena said, somehow distracted, frowning at the text. She had noticed that Bohun’s writing worsened recently. He never used auto-correct, claiming it only made things worse, but when he was forced to write a message instead of calling her, Bohun usually made an effort for it to be legible. Helena remembered how ashamed he had been to even admit he had such a problem.

“I’m pretty sure even people with dyslexia can learn how to write.”

She really couldn’t bring herself to defend Bohun as he annoyed her to no ends with his presumptuous messages. Jan must have noticed her expression, because he came around to put his hands around her waist.

“Haven’t you changed your mind?”

She smiled and kissed him lightly. “We can see each other more next week when she is gone. But I really have to go now.”

Jan sighed, hugging her even more tightly. “I think I’m a little in love with you already.” It slipped through his lips before he could think about it. Perhaps he didn’t need to think about that. Jan felt Helena hug him even more firmly with her face pressed to his chest.

“A little?” she finally lifted her head to smile at him. There was something shy in her smile now, something he hadn't seen there before.

“A lot.” Jan bent in his knees and lifted her up, with Helena wrapping her arms around his neck, and seated her on the kitchen counter. She bowed her head and their foreheads touched.

“You are crazy,” Helena whispered.

It made him happy to just look at her like this, hair falling over her shoulders, skin glowing, and memories of last night flashed through his head. He leaned up to kiss her again, and while staring deeply in her eyes, he said under his breath: “I’m really going to miss you.”

The ride to Rozlogi was unusually silent but Jan was content to drive with Helena’s hand on his thigh, listening to the radio playing music that was from time to time interrupted by road news or the forecaster predicting record-breaking temperatures for the next week. But when Helena hadn't said anything for a couple of minutes, he asked:

“Is everything alright?”

She answered almost immediately. “I’m worried about Bohun.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t start anything with him on my own, and if he confronts me I know how to defend myself.” He planned to do a lot more than just defending himself but something told him that sharing his fantasies about facing Bohun in a battle to the death wouldn’t really ease Helena’s mind.

Jan had thought about their conversation last week when she admitted that she used to date Bohun and that they were dance partners for the yearly festival that allowed young choreographs to be seen by wider public, usually broadcast even on TV. The wide eyes with which she said this, as if she expected him to have a jealous fit or to never speak to her again. Back then, he did his best to act as if it didn’t bother him at all, as if Bohun was a competition so weak he barely registered the fact he spent a lot of time alone with Helena. She had smiled gratefully at him, more than clear that she appreciated being trusted. It ultimately did make Jan wonder if the guys she had been with were really jealous, and if Bohun in particular demanded she couldn’t meet or act friendly with other guys.

In truth, her relationship with Bohun mystified him rather a lot, and he kept getting back to it in his head over and over. Maybe that’s why he opened his mouth without thinking and finally gave into asking.

“How long were you guys together anyway?”

There was another big pause during which Helena just stared in front of her with what Jan had assumed must have been traumatic memories flashing before her eyes.

“Over three years.”

He had to focus on the road. He had to… he had to focus. On the road.

“Oh, cool,” said Jan in a high-pitched voice.

Helena turned her head towards him. “I knew you won’t like hearing this. But we are truly over now. In fact I tried to end it a lot of times before.”

If Helena wanted to comfort him with this, she failed spectacularly.

“Please don’t freak out. I… it wasn’t easy for me. He was… oh God… he was the first guy I was with.”

She seemed so embarrassed that he regretted asking at all. He didn’t want to force her to tell him.

“And you saw... you saw him.”

Jan laughed humorlessly. “I did.”

“And that’s just his normal state, he can get so much worse.” With a delay, Jan realized she wasn’t talking about how good Bohun looked when her voice wavered slightly.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I knew it, I knew he was going to ruin everything. Maybe best if it happens now before…“ She trailed off although Jan knew exactly what she had meant.

“He can only ruin things if we let him,” said Jan, feeling a cold calm, any part of him that wished he’d never heard this defeated by simple defiance. So what if Bohun was with her for this long? Jan didn’t care in the slightest. Bohun could be dreaming about him and Helena reconciling but that was all it would end up being – a sad dream about a girl that spoke about him with such disdain that Jan was surprised he dared to show her his face. He turned to Helena.

“And we won’t let him ruin this. Right?”

-

Rzędzian adjusted his glasses and started shuffling in the black gym bag he carried almost everywhere with him. “How was summer?”

“Boring. Yours?”

“I had a blast. Thanks to the summer job I got I’m stocked as never before.” Bohun saw a glimpse of the box he needed from him, relief flooding his body. Rzędzian was about to give it to him when his face fell.

“Are you serious? That’s how you want to start the new season?” he whined.

Usually, Bohun was ready with cash on hand but now he was reaching with his fingers while the other palm was tragically empty.

“Next month,” he said confidently, thumb and index finger curling around the pills. Rzędzian doubted he could pry them off even if he tried.

“This is so fucking unfair. I need to eat too. My family is poor so I’m slaving here to earn something to help-”

Bohun seriously doubted Rzędzian didn’t have money, otherwise he would never let him just take stuff without paying. No matter how his business with expired laxatives boomed,  the real money was made in the sweet stuff Bohun’s muscles craved right now.

Rzędzian found that his wailing had no effect on the man in front of him and given that Bohun was in his debt, he felt brave enough to nudge him a little.

“I have heard that back pain usually originates more in a mental than a physical problem. You know, shit like depression and personal issues manifesting on the body.”

Bohun gave him a deadly stare. "My back pain is from lifting and throwing a small person around in the air five hours a day almost every day but thanks for the insight. Last time I checked, I paid you to give me meds, not a therapy."

"Last time I checked, you were supposed to actually pay me," complained Rzędzian, closing the bag again and throwing it under the scaffolding where his bottle and phone also laid. “You are just lucky I love you so much.”

"Yeah, you are lucky my body is taking a vacation from me so you can make some money."

Rzędzian shrugged although the truth was that Bohun unlike some others always paid what he owed and with a huge tip for all the waiting. An ideal customer, except for the occasional glimpse of mental instability. And Rzędzian would gladly help him even with that if he ever asked (though he was not so bold to suggest it himself).

Overcome with sympathy, he decided to mention what everybody was talking about these days. That Helena Kurcewiczóvna had a particular preference for guys in the first soloist rank. The other reason was a lot less nice – he hoped to find some new gossip about Bohun, if he was with someone new, if he wasn’t. He knew girls would pay for that information..

“So Kurcewiczóvna and Skrzetuski are going out, huh. Must be tough.” He nodded to himself, not really looking at Bohun to hide his obvious thirst for the juicy details. “How are you holding up, my friend? But I suppose you had moved on, huh?”

“They aren’t going out,” Bohun snapped, a frown on his face.

“What?” laughed Rzędzian lightly. “You don’t know about it?”

Bohun stared at Rzędzian with narrowed eyes, voice deadly. “And how do  _you_  know. You’ve heard some stupid gossip and now you are going around like an old biddy, talking about shit you don’t understand.”

“Excuse me? I talk shit?” The indignation on Rzędzian’s face reached comical heights. He harrumphed and then grabbed his phone from the ground to swipe through with a frown.

"Don't believe me, huh? Then look at this!” He triumphantly shoved the screen under Bohun's nose which was soon was yanked out of Rzędzian’s fingers. Definitely not a social platform user, Bohun still didn’t live under a rock and could clearly recognize Helena’s Instagram page, mostly the same as he remembered it from the last time he had looked at it on Horpyna's phone.

“It’s the last two pictures.”

Bohun barely heard him. He opened the last uploaded picture from a club he barely recognized with Helena leaning on Skrzetuski who had an arm tucked around her waist and smiled with eyes nearly closed like some kind of idiot. Bohun felt blood go into his head because of the way he had her pulled against him, so disgustingly possessive but still... still this couldn't... He would still kill Skrzetuski for this the next time he saw him because what right did he had to touch her like that? Yet Bohun’s heart ached over the way how comfortable she looked, not able to lie to himself that she didn't want this, that she wasn't having a good time and maybe even enjoyed him touching her. At the same time Bohun couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact Helena would go with  _Skrzat_  anywhere outside a lunch. Even when his eyes clearly saw it, Bohun’s head refused to understand or accept the truth in front of him.

He made another swipe with his thumb and his eyes went wide at the picture of Helena grabbing Skrzetuski's chin and kissing him on the mouth. Bohun’s palms were suddenly sweaty and he couldn't hear anything, couldn't make what Rzędzian was saying to him, couldn't see anything other than them, the image being burned into his memory.

He found that he couldn't look at it anymore and he slowly put the hand with the phone down, barely realizing it was shaking. How could she do this to him? How could she discard him – him who had loved her for so long – for Skrzetuski? The misery was suddenly replaced by intensive hatred and he found himself filled with the need to find Skrzetuski right now and just beat the shit out of him until Helena wouldn’t be able to recognize his pretty face. Perhaps then she wouldn't want to kiss and touch it.

He closed his eyes but could still see them, now somehow in more vivid details than on the actual picture and the horror of what could have followed afterward completely paralyzed him for a second. Bohun aimed straight towards the door, his legs carrying him there as if on their own accord, completely consumed by anger and fury, only focused on finding Skrzetuski or Helena and-

"Hey! Give me back my fucking phone!”

Rzędzian immediately regretted opening his mouth, the phone be damned, when Bohun turned his head slowly, eyes flashing with such pure hatred it made him step back. There was a moment he knew Bohun was about to strike him, covering his head in preparation for the blow, but in the last second, as if an invisible hand stopped the man, Bohun froze. He stared at Rzędzian, eyes wide, looking almost possessed, until he swung his hand towards him.

The hand, instead of hitting him, smashed Rzędzian's phone to the ground.

Both of them could hear a loud crack as the broken bits scattered in all directions on the floor. Bohun turned on his heel, ignoring Rzędzian's outraged curses towards his back. He took the handle of the door roughly and when it didn't budge, he kicked it furiously open, the flash of pain from his knee clouding his vision for a moment.

It didn’t take Bohun long to tear through the package, push out two pills from the blister and chew them on the spot, wincing and retching with disgust. He talked himself into stomaching it, promising that everything would be alright soon.

He would make it alright, even if he had to drag alright by its hair and force it to cooperate with him for the first time in his life. Bohun would never allow life to take things from him ever again.

-

It in fact took hours before a car stopped in front of a rather ugly modern house at the end of the Rozłogi street and when the doors of the vehicle opened, the laughing and cursing of several men echoed through the empty street. One jumped out and stood there for a while, trying to catch his breath without success and dissolving into laughter once more. The light in the house next door went off as an old lady walked over to the window so she could watch the commotion unsuspected. A tall man with red hair stepped out and nearly fell to the ground, caught by the one already outside. The redhead ruffled the other’s messy brown hair, the shorter man pushing him away lightly, until they stood face to face, discussing something. Finally, the younger man marched towards the gate.

Bohun stared at the house from behind the barred gate, seeing lights on in the kitchen and the living room. He tried to regain his composure but things were difficult... to do and to process. He just wanted sit on the pavement for a while until his head stopped spinning but Krzywonos deliberately pushed him towards the gate when he did that, telling him to think of Helena.

Bohun mentally cursed himself for forgetting. He had been captured by his friend on his way from the theater, with Krzywonos reminding him of his promise to celebrate his soon-to-be fatherhood. Bohun could barely think about anything else than Skrzetuski and Helena before but as the evening progressed, the alcohol dulled his pain a little. Yes, Helena. He was there to make it right. To fix things. He wouldn't be broken up with her after today. The mental images of Helena hugging him, her head on his shoulder as they would be lying in his bed, warmed him in the cold night air. He would've have cleaned his room had he known she'd be coming over. Bohun supposed he could do that in the morning before she woke up.

A smile broke on his face as he pressed the button. "It's me." He sang merrily into the microphone.

"So what?" Maksym shouted from the car.

"Quiet!" growled Bohun loudly, waiting for the intercom to respond.

"Hey Bohun, what are you doing here?" Mikołaj’s voice greeted him from the speaker. Bohun knew they had cameras so they could see him, although he couldn’t see them. Olga Kniahini lived in a fortress and in the fortress there was also a princess.

"I'm visiting. The cousin. The pretty one." Bohun was laughing quietly to himself when he added. "Not you."

"Jesus fucking Christ, fuck this shit! Helena? HELENA? Why don’t you go open the fucking door yourself! Helena, for Christ sake, come down!"

The gate opened and Bohun walked through the garden, touching the cherry trees as he did so. Mikołaj was waiting for him on the terrace attached to the kitchen at the side of the house with arms crossed.

"She said she never called you. And to tell you she's asleep."

"It's not even ten yet." Bohun protested.

"Seriously Bohun, I feel embarrassed for you," Symeon's long-haired head popped up from the kitchen. "You must know she is with that other guy."

Bohun felt anger rising in him. So they knew and said nothingto him? "I'm gonna rip that guy’s head off. I will!"

Mikołaj rolled his eyes as he let Bohun inside. "Why are you telling this to us? We  _don't_  care."

Bohun’s voice was dangerously low. "You don't care about her? Well that's fine. She won't be staying here any longer."

Mikołaj turned to exchange a look with Symeon. He was about to say something but Wasyl's tall figure appeared at the kitchen door, most likely brought from upstairs by the noise.

"Who is it?” he asked warily, staring in front of himself as if he couldn’t really see them. “Is it the postman?"

"What? It's dark, dude. What would be the postman doing here at this hour?” Symeon turned to rub his shoulder to comfort him. “Don’t worry, everything is fine. Like mom told you before she left, you have us here and nobody is going to mess with us two."

Wasyl’s mood was clearly bolstered by this information until he assumed a thoughtful expression, touching his overgrown blond hair. "Is it an apostle?"

"Are you fucking with me right now, Wasyl?" laughed Symeon.

"Hey Wasyl!” Bohun shouted, making Wasyl stare at him in incomprehension. “Tell Helena to come down."

"No, don't," said Symeon, holding his brother's arm.

"Leave him out of this!" Mikołaj stood between them, fuming at Bohun’s impudence.

"So you won't call her?" Bohun blinked several times. "You won't do what I'm asking you to?"

"No. No, we won't."

"So... so this is how it is. I thought we were friends."

"Are you drunk or something? I can never tell with -” Said Symeon with narrowed his eyes but wasn’t allowed to finish, interrupted by his younger brother.

"Yeah, we thought so too. Until you started this crazy tirade with our cousin."

Bohun stood there with hands folded on his chest, giving both of them an accusing look. "You never cared before."

"We didn't give a shit when you weren't making a scene with her all the time. Like now."

"Call Helena to come down," Bohun tried to say this with more authority. Sometimes things worked for him this way. But the brothers glared at him, only more agitated by his tone.

"I swear to God if you two won't call her to come down I will come and get her myself. You won't stop me."

"What? Are you nuts?" Symeon was truly shocked.

"Fucking try it!" Mikolaj spluttered.

"HELENA!" Bohun put his outstretched hands to his lips. He screamed her name again.

"Shut the fuck up!" screamed Mikolaj in return.

"Or what?" Bohun lifted his eyebrows. "HELENA! WE ARE GOING! HELENA!"

"You will wake up the whole fucking neighborhood. This is not like the shithole you live in, people might actually call the police on us."

"You think I'm scared?!" snarled Bohun and made one menacing step towards Symeon. "HELENA! TAKE SVIETLA AND LET’S GO!"

“Who the fuck is Svietla?” said Symeon.

“Oh God, he means that stupid poster of hers. Don’t you remember Zakharova?”

Symeon scratched his chin. “Is she some kind of a big name dancer?”

“Yeah like one of the best ones. Thank God mother cannot hear you.”

Bohun interrupted their conversation, shouting Helena’s name again.

"I told you once! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Mikolaj grabbed Bohun by the collar, possibly to pull him outside towards the terrace and to the garden but Bohun pushed him away, unfortunately dragged nearly to the ground with him as Mikolaj’s grip on his shirt didn’t falter.

He tried to get him outside again, angering Bohun enough to make an unsuccessful attempt at Mikolaj’s face with his fist. He missed but at that moment all hell broke loose. Mikolaj moved to hit Bohun’s head but he dodged to the side. Symeon was shouting at them, trying to break them apart, but without any avail, and Bohun’s back met the kitchen counter painfully. Then he pushed Mikolaj out into the terrace himself. He saw that he broke his nose with the first hit, the second he spent realizing that enough for Mikolaj to grant him a blow to the head, forcing him to bend his whole upper body towards the ground, vision spinning. Ignoring the feeling of sickness, Bohun retaliated quickly, striking his jaw, wincing at the pain in his knuckles when they made contact with Mikolaj’s teeth.

The kitchen door opened and Helena herself ran outside, barefoot and only with her nightdress falling around her. She was running towards Wasyl who watched the fight wide eyed, standing on the terrace next to Symeon who was without any success trying to get his brother back inside. Seeing Helena, he immediately left him and ran towards Bohun and Mikolaj.

"Wasyl! Oh god, Wasyl, come inside," Helena tried to drag him back.

“Helena!” shouted Bohun, avoiding another of Mikolaj’s blows by pure luck now, eyes fixated on her dazedly, thinking she looked terribly Giselle-like in the white nightdress that fluttered around her hips. “Helena, pack your stuff. We are leaving!”

Her head snapped towards him, looking at Bohun for the first time. She was seething, eyes flashing with so much scorching anger, he barely recognized her. Helena’s mouth curled in disgust when she spoke through her teeth.

“I’m never going anywhere with you.”

“She is never going to love you, no matter how hard you try.” Bohun could see that his words hurt her when Helena pressed her lips even more tightly together but she needed to hear it. He thought this would help her to finally do it, to leave Kniahini’s house once for all. “But I love you like nothing else in the world. So come with me. I promise that I will force Horpyna to behave, and I’m going to take care of you,  _kukułka_. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

"I wouldn't have come with you even if I was living on a street!" screamed Helena. She  left Wasyl be and made a few steps closer. Bohun could see angry tears falling from her eyes.

"What, so my flat isn't good for you anymore?” he narrowed his eyes. “Because you have found a better one, didn’t you? Some rich boy that can spoil the fuck out of you?” The words felt bitter on his tongue but he took pleasure in saying them anyway.

Helena’s face was twisted as she made another step towards him, red blotches on her cheeks.  Her eyes darkened when she spoke to him again.

“Even if you were the richest guy on earth I would rather die than go with you!”

Bohun stared at her wide-eyed, words suddenly stuck to his tongue. Some voice in his head laughed at him that he finally did it, that he finally managed to do what he feared for all those years.

“Didn’t you hear? Get the fuck out of here,” Symeon snarled and grabbed him by the shoulder, preventing him from taking another step towards Helena. Bohun quickly pushed him off, furious for being interrupted but glad he could direct his rage at someone. Apparently it was Mikolaj ’s turn to have a go at him and Bohun elbowed him in the stomach. He heard a pained gasp that turned into a grunt as he fell to his knees, struggling to get up.

Helena was trying to bring Wasyl inside but as he was the tallest and the largest of her cousins her strength had next to no effect on him, at most just tilting him to the side, his feet firmly stuck to the ground. Wasyl’s eyes were fixed on Bohun trying to throw Symeon off of him and getting struck in the face instead, although it didn’t look like any number of hits on Bohun's head could stop him from swinging his own fists. With horror, Helena found Wasyl was shaking slightly but nothing could prepare her for what came out of his mouth afterward.

"…dad?"

The way Wasyl said it wasn't particularly loud but everybody heard it. In an instant, all Kurcewiczs froze on the spot, Helena and Symeon going completely white while Mikolaj’s lip trembled in such fury Bohun had never seen on him before.

"You worthless piece of shit," he said through the teeth, blood from his nose still dripping over his lips. "Get THE FUCK out of here and NEVER come back!"

Bohun himself seemed shocked. He made no attempt to move, not even when Mikolaj hit him again, hearing Helena scream at them to stop as his legs gave out under him.

His vision blackened and he was finally, mercifully, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Svietlana Zakharova is a famous prima ballerina with the Bolshoi Ballet.


	7. Happy Birthday

Jeremi usually liked corps auditions but today was not one of his best days and he was annoyed by the new batch of recruits almost immediately. He felt nobody in the group in front of him really stood out, had a stage presence, and seriously wanted to ask Czaplinski if Zagloba was now also teaching the company's apprentice programme together with the six year old kids.

The only current apprentice who had a chance at getting a job this year was Timofiej Chmielnicki but he managed to get himself kicked out from the academy right before graduation and would spend the next season finishing high school education somewhere else. It was definitely a pity as he had a strained relationship with his father and it probably wouldn't be too hard to pull him to their side.

Jeremi for a moment amused himself with the thought of presenting such news to the Chmielnicki senior himself, seeing the rest of his hair fall out after he learns not even his own son wanted to dance in his joke of a company. This image uplifted his mood only for a moment until he reminded himself that it's still Saturday morning and he's at work, but instead doing something he loved or getting a headstart on the tasks for next week, he was forcefully made a witness to the dropping standard of the Polish ballet.

Just when the second group of juniors finished their warm-ups, a young man, apparently not being prepared by many years of schooling for how auditions look like, stormed barefoot into the studio, face red. The moment he made an eye contact with Jeremi sitting at the table, he blanched and quickly took a spot in the back with his gaze turned downcast, obviously wishing to become invisible, truly the opposite you would want to be during a company audition.

Jeremi felt anger rise in him, choosing rather to not respond to Witowská who just arrived or he would snap at her. So this was the new standard he has to work with? He couldn't imagine something like this occurring during his youth. And the boy won't even come to apologize that he came unprepared? After staring right into his face? That would be the basic decency for wasting the company’s time. Not like it would help him anyway since he couldn't accept someone unable follow dress regulations but it still grated on him.

He studied the young man with a frown, trying to not let his anger get to him but failing. The short hair of that boy was almost sticking to his face, meaning he must have had ran. An over-sleeper then. Truly they didn't have this type in Pro arte yet, thought Jeremi with irony and smiled derisively.

They were ordered to take the first position and all of them did as he stood up and walked towards the barefoot dancer.

"Did you read the audition guidelines?" asked Jeremi in an even voice but feeling he was going to lose it soon. Last year's auditions were perfect, he helped choose many promising young men and girls, and when it came to his own picks, all of them proved to be true talents who actually managed to stay in the company. But the problem with his colleagues was that they focused only on picking out dancers because of their abilities but sometimes – and Jeremi thought this was core of his success – personality was even greater factor.

This guy was a weakling and he saw it just from the way his lip trembled, even if he tried look into his eyes fearfully. Jeremi wanted to laugh at the display. As if he was some horrifying giant standing in front of him and the boy facing certain death. Seeing almost an adult acting like this disgusted him.

"Others, continue!" he heard Witowská say sharply. She really was pissed, Jeremi thought. Better prepare himself for another speech about not turning everyone who displeases him into a public scapegoat. She could pretend to ignore bad apples like this but she too would never take someone who cannot follow orders. Her coddling was truly bearing fruits because while he could just drop dozen of names out of his sleeve with any hope for principal roles one day, she only had the Zbarazski girls and young Kurcewiczóvna, who was still inexperienced, and any credit for her skill should really go to Kniahini and not her. The rest was either too young or too unremarkable to catch Jeremi’s interest.

"Are you deaf?!" he asked the boy once again and he didn't think of anything better than start doing  _tendu_ with everybody else.

"Stop! Immediately!" he shouted and the boy froze on the spot. Jeremi paid no attention that some of the others stopped too for a moment. Witowská would thank him later for helping her weed out those who get easily distracted.

"You didn't hear what I asked you?"

"I did," was the first and the last thing that young man said that day to him because Jeremi saw somebody walk towards them. They were almost at the end of the classroom where the young man obviously thought would be the best place to conceal his non-existent footwear.

"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt," Jeremi turned slowly towards a tall young man with a head full of messy brown hair and a long face that made him look older than most of his classmates. "I have an extra pair in the back that I can lend. I would say this sooner but I'm in the front and haven't seen…" As the boy continued explaining, the easygoing smile on his face was getting more and more strained.  

Jeremi had an almost out-of-body experience. First this and now some auditioner just straight up stopped dancing and walked up to him to ask questions. Maybe he would wake up in his bed in any second, annoyed more than ever that he has to go to the actual audition again in real life.

The boy must have known by now that he made a terrible mistake because his face was losing color fast. But he still stood there, awaiting for response as others continued to dance to the music, hands behind his back, posture straight, and while he could see terrible fear in his eyes for what Jeremi was about to say, he knew this wouldn’t be someone to beg for another chance or God forbid to cry when rejected. He wanted to see more of this young man.

"Both of you stop right now and wait for me outside," he said now in a collected voice and slowly turned away, still catching the flash of shock spread over the boy's face. But in a matter of seconds his expression became blank. The boy turned to walk away, followed dejectedly by the other.

Witowská shook her head in disgust but Jeremi just lifted his eyebrows at her questioningly. She couldn't exactly give him orders how to pick male students even if she obviously disagreed with his harsh methods. After all, young Witowski would be in this room in a year or two and if he was a mommy's boy just like Jeremi expected, it wouldn't be easy for him to get in and even harder to stay.

After the audition was over, the pitiful results of this year counted in, Jeremi walked out of the class to find the two offenders sitting on a bench across the door. The barefoot one rose only after his colleague nearly jumped into attention in front of Jeremi. It was amusing but not bad.

"You go home," said Jeremi to the other one without sparing him a glance. "And you," he looked into the green wide eyes of the other young man, "come with me!"

-

Jeremi made him dance in the other classroom, snatching the first CD he had prepared for private lessons tomorrow. He watched his jumps and turns and at the end the boy was smiling while dancing, perfectly in sync with the music, performing everything he was asked to in an almost relaxed manner. It was clear he loved ballet more than anything and that he understood Jeremi was only giving him his time because he managed to catch his attention. He was also no slacker - if he were, this would be a torture session for him.

"What is your name?"

"Żeleński," said the boy after taking a huge breath, trying to hide he was absolutely exhausted.

"Congratulations, mister Żeleński," said Jeremi evenly and saw the pure joy bloom in the boy's face. He would have to dance in front of Witowská and the others eventually but for today his colleague would be most likely delighted he hadn't thrown away a full batch of possible recruits. After she recovered form the shock, of course.

"Thank you sir, thank you! It means so much to me that you gave me a chance."

Jeremi only smiled, putting a palm up in the air for him to stop. When Żeleński looked like he calmed down a little, he spoke:

"You will soon learn who deserves help and who does not. We cannot afford to be unprepared and a person like that would only drag the whole group down. I gave you a chance because while I expect to be obeyed, you've shown a quality that a corps member needs to have. And even soloists and principals should care about their colleagues. Ballet isn't one person."

Żeleński nodded seriously, looking at him with something akin to reverence, wishing him a good day and leaving the classroom with a straight back, proud at what he managed to achieve today. And rightfully so.

Jeremi knew that he would show terrible gratefulness towards him now. Maybe he would feel even indebted. But most importantly, he would be now able to do everything he asked him to.

-

Bohun awoke to the sound of an argument, male and female voice, the latter visibly angrier, both speaking in such a strange way that he wasn’t able to make out the words. That was not a problem however, as Bohun’s only wish was for both of them to shut up.

“Ey, Horpyna… zip it or I will kill you,” he groaned, realizing that moving his head wasn’t a good idea as it was giving him such a migraine that a clear shot to the temple seemed like a very attractive remedy.

“I can’t understand a thing he just said,” the female voice retorted.

“Yeah, that’s not Polish,  _kochanie_.”

Bohun finally recognized the familiar voice of Krzywonos. He sounded extremely weird when he used English. It wasn’t even the kind one heard on TV or learned in school. Bohun finally recalled that Maksym danced in Scotland for years. When he returned, he brought his girlfriend here, and Bohun lifted his pillow a bit to look at a rather tiny woman glaring at his friend.

“There was blood all over his head when you brought him! What if he died over the night? We would have a dead body on our hands!”

“I couldn’t just drop him off in  _Praga_ , his roommate wouldn’t answer her phone.” Maksym went over to him. “Jurko!” He crouched next to his head, switching to Polish, but still annoyingly loud. “Tell me, how many fingers do you see!” He showed a middle finger in front of his eyes.

“Fuck off,” whispered Bohun with a frown, trying to push his hand away and missing by a long shot.

“See? He is alright! A little disoriented but alright?”

Bohun took the pillow he was lying on and put it over his head. He closed his eyes, last desperate attempt to fall asleep, to escape the pain in his head. As his vision blackened, new images came up. Of the Kurcewiczs, Helena looking at him with real hatred in her eyes and then Wasyl…

He dropped the pillow on the floor and stared at the ceiling wide-eyed, rousing concern in both Maksym and his soon-to-be wife.

“Are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t. Nothing was okay.

-

Jan stared at the sky visible over the glass windows at the rooftop and his mind kept slipping further and further until his head was filled with blissful nothing. In truth this was what he liked about swimming the most. Unlike ballet he didn't think, he didn't care, and most importantly didn't have to count the time left constantly.

Outside swimming there weren't many sports truly suitable for ballet dancers and dancing itself would not keep you in a top shape alone so most of their free time consisted of exercise and stretching. When your body was making your living, you had to really put some thought in the way you cared for it and Jan took it all in earnest. He'd never had any serious injury in his life and would like to keep it that way.

His hand finally reached a wall and he turned from his back to grab the side of the pool, breathing hard. After a while he spotted a young guy with brown hair surfacing next to him, gasping for air. He had been sloshing around in the other corner of the pool for some time now.

Jan watched him lazily, part of him wishing just to close his eyes and let himself be carried away by the calming sound of splashing water, at the same time feeling bored enough to continue observing what was going one with this person. There were only five more people, all of them regulars who like Jan used the fast lanes.

The guy swam away from the pool wall, turned, and then approached it with a front crawl, submerging halfway to make a turn. At least that's what Jan thought he was attempting. After he observed the boy do it several times, he noticed Jan watching and grinned, water still trickling down his face when he spoke:

"Hey, could you tell me if I'm doing it right? Just this time? I have a feeling I'm turning sideways somehow..."

"Yeah, of course you are. That's because you have your legs too far from your body. Bend the knees more. As if you were doing a somersault."

"Oh. I haven't noticed. Thanks."

He must have been younger than him, oval-shaped face but still rather pretty when he breathlessly looked at Jan again and asked with water dripping from his dark hair. "You know how to do it?"

"I wouldn't be going around giving advice if I didn't, would I?"

Jan could offer showing it to him but in all honesty he hated nothing more than getting his head under water. It made him shiver even now, although possibly he was just staying on one place for too long.

The guy did it again with a very slight improvement.

"Better but you aren't diving enough. I still could see your ass on the surface."

"Damn, can't have that," said the guy with a sly smile and Jan felt a smirk growing on his own face as he watched him sink into the water again. Should he expect him to pretend to drown any time soon? Jan decided that he loved Warzsawa and was laughing to himself still when the guy surfaced.

"This one was terrible."

"I know, I know," he laughed.

"I think I'm heading out. Good luck." Jan still had some time but in truth hadn't felt like swimming anymore.

"Okay, thanks man. See ya." He pointed with his index finger to his eye and then to him. Jan for a second was almost sure he just met another ballet dancer since with that odd gesture he mimed exactly what he said to him but then dismissed it as the guy just trying to be cute. He was cute of course but Jan had better things on his mind nowadays than fulfilling someone's swimming instructor fantasy. Although if Helena wanted...

After dressing up quickly, he grabbed his phone to see a new text from Michal.

M: counting on you tonight birthday boy

M: too bad I couldn't celebrate mine with yours like we used to

J: sure thing, I have so many news

J: also I’m in love

M: oh fuck me too! Met this hot guy, complete fucking mess, I think he dabbed into drugs or something but if you saw him you'd understand why I would keep him forever

M: best fuck in YEARS and God help me if I'm not doing him again

M: wait

M: WAIT

M: in love? you?

J: yes :)

M: and you are sober

J: yes omg you dont believe me

J: you def will when you see her

M: that's amazing, I'm so happy for you!

M: we can double date lol but hey... it gets freaky with this guy sometimes so take that in mind

J: jesus you are scaring me

J: you aren't taking something with him

M: no but that's the joke, I promised to help him get sober

J: and how are you gonna do that

M: :) you will see

J: obviously you cannot fuck him into sobriety

Michal went poignantly silent after that and didn’t offer any more explanation. Although it was pretty early in the morning when Jan walked towards the theater, wondering how long was this one going to last. He had been through this with his best friend so many times it kind of lost its novelty. Although a junkie? But Jan promised not to judge, after all Michal always tried to show understanding when it came to his own romances. So Jan wouldn’t frown at him for trying to reform drug addicts which in fact was a rather Christian of him in a sense, wasn’t it? And who knew, perhaps this time he truly fell for someone for real. It would be pretty funny for it to happen to both of them at the same time.

-

Helena sat on the mat with Wasyl and stared at the wallpaper of his room, circles and crosses in some weird geometric pattern her brother loved so much. She felt terrible guilt while looking at Wasyl’s detached face, barely blinking, just staring ahead. How they had thought during the first few months this is all he was going to be until he had turned to aunt and in a shaky voice had asked where his father was.

Helena squeezed his hand, not really sure if it made him feel better or not. Perhaps she was still trying to comfort herself because it pained her to think about Bohun every single moment of the day, so angry like never before in her life. And she wasn’t calming down, still felt the same fury because of what he did no matter how many hours had passed. She wondered if Bohun knew how much she hated him right now and Wasyl pulled his hand away, Helena realizing too late she had been holding it too tight.

“I’m sorry.” She said this thousand of times already since yesterday’s evening. But just like she always tried to explain to Bohun, saying you were sorry wouldn’t magically fix everything that you did wrong.

“I know it’s my fault.”

Wasyl didn’t respond although she wished he would argue that it wasn’t true. But he simply didn’t say stuff like that, not before and neither after the thing. Helena remembered that serious frown with which he had watched her when they had been kids, as if he hadn’t liked it one bit that she had wanted to do nothing more than to practice with them, for aunt to let her join. Perhaps naively she as a child had thought that if she had been doing the same things as her brothers, she would have been loved just like them.

_She is never going to love you._

Helena no longer cared if aunt loved her, as long as she kept training her. And aunt would keep training her because she simply had no one better. Still blood boiled in her at the thought of Bohun opening his mouth and saying this, in front of her brothers no less. She would be lucky if Mikolaj never used it against her.

“Can you play?” Wasyl said in a quiet, raspy, voice as he hadn’t spoken for a while and Helena felt enormous relief flood her. It wouldn’t be good if aunt came home and he was still not using his words. The three of them agreed she didn’t need to know what went down the other night, all too aware that bringing back uncle Konstantin’s death to her wasn’t the best idea.

She was as far from the mood to sing as ever these days but Helena dutifully grabbed the guitar and thought about what to play. Perhaps something new and modern to see if he recognized it from the radio. Or an old song, stuff Wasyl usually liked or asked her to play again.

“ _J_ _aką cenę?_ ” she asked after a moment and he nodded without looking at her, agreement good as any.

Helena was glad he didn’t want something harder as she usually felt her concentration was breaking during singing and playing more difficult songs. Still in the end it felt relieving, something lifting from her chest as she continued to sing. Even Wasyl’s expression relaxed, his eyes gaining more clarity, being pulled away from whatever place he wandered in the times he wasn’t distracted by some new fixation of his.

It was strange that he could get so focused on the obscure interests he picked up, how he could speak so clearly about them or even hold an eye contact with other people it would almost fool you into thinking he was back to normal. But they all knew better and it had been years since aunt asked at their church for a Mass to be held in the name of Wasyl’s recovery.

_Are we here only to_

_Get more tired before night falls_

_Is a leaf from your big tree_

_Just a summer whim of the branch_

It was a favorite band of their father and usually aunt hated when she played their songs. Not like they weren’t making Helena sad but the urge to play them was always a little big stronger. And she liked to remember her uncle, Wasyl being the same, even if aunt forbade them to talk about his father to Wasyl.

“He would play it on the contrabass too and none of use could recognize it.”

“I did recognize it,” Wasyl said. “… and Symeon.”

“If you two recognized it you sure didn’t act like it.”

“Wanted you and Kolka to say it.”

She and Mikolaj were six and seven when it all happened and Wasyl still sometimes spoke about them as ‘Helka’ and ‘Kolka’ long after they became adults. Mikolaj hated that nickname with a passion, although Wasyl was never reprimanded for it.

“Were you happy back then?” Helena asked, not knowing what got into her this time. She felt weird for the whole day, even Jan recognized it. Helena couldn't find it in herself to ruin his day recounting what Bohun did, although she probably would tell him sooner or later.

Jan kept inviting her to the riverside where his friends would be but Helena didn’t let herself to be talked into it, telling him she wouldn’t be able to stay there too long and to have fun with his friends. After yesterday, she would only become depressed, especially if they kept forcing her to drink, which she just hated, and staying in that place for too long would surely only bring up memories. Thinking of Bohun was the last thing she wanted to do right now.

Wasyl didn't answer her which came as no surprise. This seemed to be enough talking for today and even during a normal day he was happy to listen to her rattle about something without feeling the need to add anything himself. Or perhaps he was tuning her out but Helena knew he wouldn’t seek her company if it annoyed him like his brothers.

She started playing one of the newer songs and smiled when she saw Wasyl concentrating, eyes widening in recognition when she started to sing.

-

Some of them were sitting on the sand, a few had dragged loungers from a nearby bar that kept and would continue to supply them with drinks and music over the night. The sun was setting down, coloring the sky in red hues, and Jan bit into his straw, thinking he could be fooled into believing they were somewhere on the other side of the world, the Visla not just a river but a calm sea during a low tide.

Michal hit him on the shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep or I’m throwing you into the water.” He pressed a new drink into his hand, thankfully no sweet cocktail this time.

“You wouldn’t.”

The sudden ruckus from the other side of the beach made both him and Michal turn to see what was going on. It was a popular place to hang out, especially during a weather like this, so half of Sicz could be found there, to Jan’s great annoyance, and with them of course Bohun, clearly drunk from the way he was dancing around the fire, doing front-flips in the air and twirling jumps that had nothing to do with ballet, making the guys topple in laughter and clap their hands. They were completely enamored with him, Jan thought in disgust.

"Is that the guy? Bohun?" Michal frowned. “He looks familiar. Also wow, you didn’t say he isn’t straight.”

“What?” Jan turned to see Bohun giving Jaszewski something that could have been classified as a lap dance. “Hmm, I guess not. But he seems to be pretty out of it.”

Jan didn’t really contemplate Bohun’s sexuality before and in the larger scale of things he thought it didn’t matter as he still wanted Helena. Not to mention he was probably just drunk.

“That’s the thing with Warszawa. Back home I swear everybody was straight and here it’s completely overcrowded with queer people.”

Jan paused, thinking of the guy he met at the pool in the morning. “I knew plenty of gay people back home in Krakow.”

“Yeah, but that’s ballet. Here it’s everywhere.”

“I agree people are more open here but you left at what? Fifteen? It’s hard when you still live with your parents, especially when they are super religious.”

“You might be onto something. Not like I ever came out to my family either but I have to thank to Zagloba for sparing me that. I suppose your dad still doesn’t know.”

Jan shook his head. “Don’t think so. If he suspects, he never mentions it.”

“Do you think he would care?”

“No, most likely not. Still, it never came up so...”

Michal smiled bitterly at that because he heard Jan speak with his father before and it was an experience each time. He was a terrible liar but for his father even his voice changed, always agreeable but at the same trying to sound aloof, possibly imitating the tone on the other side of the line.

They kept drinking on the riverside and hours flew by. In the middle of their fight about which city had the best transport system, Michal’s friends showed up. At the same time Jan was patted on the back by Wierzsul who had shown unatural interested in Krakow’s theater.

“Look who decided to show up,” Michal grinned conspiratorially, making Jan turn to see a small woman strutting their way. She was talking with someone on her phone, giggling constantly, and had almost spilled her drink on herself before she finally arrived. Anusia greeted Michal and then a bit more coldly Jan, planting herself next to him on the lounger.

“So I have heard that you had finally found someone?” she bumped into his shoulder, eyes gleaming.

Jan lifted his eyebrows, a wolfish grin on his face. “And you care?”

“Of course not,” Anusia pursed her lips nonchalantly. “I’m here with someone too.”

“Really? I haven’t noticed.” The guy that trailed behind her and greeted them half-heartedly didn’t seem to be focusing much on the conversation and stared at Anusia sitting so close to Jan with a frown. He looked like he knew a few other people from a group sitting nearby and looked like he was tempted to ditch Anusia for them but every time he turned back to her, his eyes nearly glazed over.

“So sad that your girl couldn’t make time to celebrate your birthday with you.”

“We already celebrated,” Jan smile was still pleasant, even sweeter for the fact she was so obviously trying to rile him up. “Please don’t worry about me, I’m in good hands.”

Anusia rolled her eyes. “I worry about her more than about you.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear but then she started talking about the dance competition in Budapest, making everybody around laugh, only with Michal interrupting her from time to time and correcting some of her bigger exaggerations. She stayed for just about an hour, finally taking mercy on her date, picking him like a sad puppy waiting for his owner and dragging him away for drinks.

Jan’s eyes trailed towards Bohun, who had been sitting in the sand and staring into the fire his friends started for some time now, mostly ignoring the lively group around him. Alcohol didn’t seem to be lifting his mood anymore but Jan was shocked to see him stand up abruptly out of nowhere, making the men around him for a second dead silent, until they started screaming and chanting only God knew what. Other people began turning around to see what was going on.

Bohun suddenly took off his shirt, revealing large muscular back that made Jan swallow hard. He could swear his shoulders didn’t look so wide under the shirts he wore to class but was left with no time to contemplate on that because Bohun then pulled his pants down and Jan had to elbow Michal to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Michal squinted eyes at Bohun who now only in his underwear opened the brace around his back with a familiar tearing noise and threw it to the ground, soon followed by the other on his knee. Jan's suspicions about Bohun’s injuries were confirmed but they didn’t make him feel anything really, not when Bohun kicked the knee brace lying in the sand angrily and turned towards the water.

Jan initially thought it would be amusing to see Bohun’s shock as he gets splashed by the cold water. He wouldn’t be the first person who got the amazing idea to celebrate the possibly last summer weekend by swimming in Visla. Instead he felt confusion as Bohun walked alongside the beach, without even gazing at the river, eyes aiming higher, towards the bridge.

“Jesus,” Michal said. “Somebody should stop him.”

“What? Is he going to jump from the bridge?”

The water didn’t seem so deep around these parts, pieces of sand actually emerging around the bridge’s pillars. Still, Jan was surprised to see Michal’s upper lip twitch ominously as he watched Bohun walk the stairs to the top. He didn't look to be in any hurry.

“He is going to kill himself and we will all be watching like the idiots we are,” said Michal through his teeth. The redhead friend, who Jan today had learned from Wierzsul was Krzywonos, waved at Bohun when he reached the top but the guy just continued walking, paying the people on the beach no mind.

After he reached the middle he stood there for a while and Jan thought he truly looked like a man preparing for death. Perhaps he was praying but whatever made Bohun pause, it didn’t take long. He made a fist at his chest and then reached with it towards his face, holding it there for a second.

Then he stepped on the railing, balancing on one leg for a while, seemingly frozen as he was seizing the water under him. His other foot touched the railing and as he put his arms behind him, with one swift back swing he jumped.

Jan heard a few people shout, one girl even screamed. Bohun dived with his hands into the water in a perfect headlong dive. It all happened so fast Jan was shocked to even react somehow, half expecting Bohun to take forever at the top before he jumped, perhaps to do some of the silly things he showed his friends before.

It seemed like forever until his head emerged a few meters further, hair stuck to his face, gasping for air. He kicked the water for a few seconds and turned on the place. The hardest obstacle was to find the right side to swim ti, until the Sicz guys started screaming his name and he finally headed into the right direction.

  
  


It didn’t take him long to reach a point where he could stand on his feet and Jan felt sick when he realized how shallow Visla was in these parts, seeing the truth with his own eyes as Krzywonos and another two bigger guys ran towards Bohun to grab him by the shoulders and drag him from the water when he got close enough, bringing him towards the beach.

He appeared to be fine although he kept looking around himself with wide eyes as if he couldn’t really grasp his surroundings. But a bottle was soon offered to him and he seemed to drink on forever. The guys around him kept slapping his back and shouting at Bohun for being crazy, awe obvious in their voices, until someone brought Bohun’s clothes. Jan wasn’t even surprised when Bohun very modestly turned with his front towards the river and then pulled his wet underwear down, stumbling while stepping out of it.

He began pulling his pants up his legs with such finesse that Jan truly now saw everything of Bohun and then staggered around, having to be literally forced by Krzywonos and some huge guy to put on a shirt and a jacket.

The show was interrupted by a call and when Jan saw the name on the screen he nearly dropped the phone.

“Yes?” Jan said breathlessly, heart pounding.. He hoped something didn’t happen.

“Jan? Do you hear me?” Jeremi’s deep voice was heard on the other side of the line.

“Yeah, I do. Is everything alright?”

He heard him snort. After a pause Jeremi said:

“Happy Birthday.”

“I… oh… thanks,” Jan didn’t know what to say. He was touched greatly but a part of him couldn’t really believe this conversation was happening. It was not like his ballet master wouldn’t acknowledge his birthday, but this gave Jan a hope that in a different state he would curb right in the beginning, because Jeremi Wiśniowiecki just wasn’t that kind of person. He moved a little farther from the crowd so he could have more privacy.

“I was rather hoping to congratulate you in person but I understand you are probably in the middle of some huge party.” There was an amusement in his voice.

“Oh, it’s nothing big really and I’m just at the riverbank, not so far from the theater.” He was aware of the fact Jeremi lived practically next to it. “I could…,” he thought he wouldn’t be so bold to say it if he were completely sober but as all good sense just went out of him, he gathered his courage to speak. “I could be there in a few minutes, you know.”

He expected Jeremi to laugh, to dismiss him and to tell him to have fun with his friends.

“If that’s what you want.”

Jan swallowed hard, meeting eyes with Michal who was watching him with narrowed eyes.

“You are leaving,” said Michal when Jan finally approached him.

“What?” whispered Jan. “How did you…”

Michal smiled knowingly. “You got that look.”

Jan ran his fingers through his hair, feeling twitchy and just ready to go.

“I’m sorry Michal. I should have said no.”

“No, not because of me.” Michal waved his hand. “I think I’m going to save Anusia, she looks to be regretting that guy she came with. He’s hot but I guess not much of a conversationalist.”

“I still feel like shit.”

“Don’t worry about it. You must be happy that you live so close now.”

Jan first thought things didn’t really change since he moved to Warszawa in that matter but now it seemed they truly did.

He walked the whole way, thinking it would be bad to hurry in there two minutes later. Plus Jan needed to calm his head a little. He had been thinking about Helena, the afternoon they spent together, and wondered if the right thing wouldn’t be to turn around and get back to the beach.

But they knew each other for such a short time and what he was about to do… it wasn’t really any threat to what he and Helena had, same as Helena was none to his ballet master. Would he tell her if she asked? Jan convinced himself that yes, he would. But now it was too early to start talking about things like that on his own, the same way they avoided talking about her maybe still having feelings for Bohun.  Jan doubted she could be completely over a guy that she was with for three years, especially if they broke up only two months ago, even if the way Helena spoke about him gave Bohun pretty low chances for ever reconciliating with her.

Still, he couldn’t help thinking of her at home, perhaps already lying in her bed, and the image made him feel warm at his core, somehow helplessly wishing he could go to her. It was strange to him, to feel this protective and warm just at the thought of someone else.

Jan wondered if this meant happiness and if he was unhappy at home until now, somewhere deep inside aware his heart was in Warszawa all of this time in more ways than one.

His heart started beating faster as he approached to the old house Jeremi lived in, last floor, roof apartment, windows emitting light as the sun had already set.

When the door finally opened, Jeremi stood there, examining Jan, eyes trailing up and down. Jan, despite being much taller than his teacher, always felt so small when he did it, only until Jeremi smiled and grabbed Jan by the shoulder to kiss him.

That was all it ever took for Jan’s defenses to crash down around him, to lean into his embrace, reaching to touch Jeremi’s dark hair, until he was pushed inside, door closing behind them.

“Go have a shower,” Jeremi made a gesture with his hand and Jan clenched his fists for a moment, deep down wishing to protest being sent away and ordered around like this, a part of him cheekily wanting to argue or persuade him to join him along.

“Did you hear me?” the tone of the voice in which he spoke sent shivers down Jan’s spine, making him stare at him for a second and then nod, walking slowly towards the bathroom, sensing Jeremi watching him the whole way.

It all happened like it always did, every sound thought evaporating from the moment he felt Jeremi’s arms around him, feeling his clever fingers run up his back, making him sigh happily, doing everything he was asked to, grateful for every touch, for every word, finally having him only for himself, knowing well there also wasn't anyone else for Jeremi at that moment.

Jan felt his hands on his hips, gripping him hard, enough to leave a mark and Jan hated himself for loving it, for wishing it actually did. Jeremi kept holding him close as he fucked him and Jan tried to turn his face towards him, only to stop and close his eyes as another spasm of pleasure ran through him. Every time Jeremi began to slow down, Jan begged, knowing it was all he had to do, to give him what he wanted. Feeling warm lips travel from his spine to his lower back, resting his forearms exhausted on the mattress, knowing that at the end he will be just one huge mess, lying in the dirtied sheets with Jeremi's voice telling him...

"You are perfect," Jan felt teeth scrape his neck, finally able to turn around, to kiss him properly, to let himself fall into that embrace, something in him finally snapping and coming apart. This was the only time he was perfect, always hoping to hear it during their training, but never really succeeding.

Jan each time wished it would last longer, the moment when Jeremi wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, breathing into to his chest, as Jan’s heart kept beating frantically.

But his arms went lax in the end and let him go, forcing him to lift himself up, to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling dazedly. He knew Jeremi was watching him now, how he just loved this look of his afterwards as he tended to tell him so, sometimes stroking his hair when he was younger and more prone to emotional outbursts, asking embarrassing questions. He learned to be better now and so he didn't look at Jerema, pretending to study the cracks in the ceiling, the room's interior, or staring at nothing altogether. Jan knew the moment he would meet his eyes he would be tempted to beg for the arms to come back, to hold him a little longer. Ask Jeremi to tell him that he loved him, to please say it, that he would like to keep him forever…

Jeremi didn’t do these things and Jan knew that. It was Jan's own misfortune that he felt this way only with him and a single real fortune that Jeremi gave him almost everything else.

"I'm so proud of you," he had said when he’d came to see his first adult performance. "I wish your dad could see it too, that you will be wasted anywhere else. Truly, what a terrible waste."

Life had no purpose before. When he started dancing, it was like finding an anchor to keep him steady. No matter how terrible Jan felt, ballet and Jeremi gave him hope that there was a meaning to his life. That he wouldn’t die forgotten as if he’d never breathed. That at the end a pair of proud eyes would look at him and they wouldn't be the eyes of his father but the stormy gaze of the man who lead him through the thorny way all to the top.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Helena is singing can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZg1vUYlt5E), translation to English was taken from [here](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/Jaka-Cene-What-price.html). 


	8. Gossip Girl

 

9 years ago

 

Jan's seat belt dug into his neck as Jeremi stomped on the brake, tires screaming.

"TY SKURWYSYNU!" A stream of insults followed, most calling for an imminent death of the driver who just cut in front of him. Jeremi slammed his fist into the steering wheel's center and Jan nearly jumped at the sound of the horn.

Jeremi being an aggressive driver? That didn't come as a surprise but Jan now regretted not taking the bus to the railway station. This was his first competition and he didn’t want it to also be the last.

"There he is," Jeremi said in a tone that was no longer full of thunderous rage. He pulled over to the sidewalk where a kid in over-sized jeans stood, waving at them lazily.

Bohun immediately fell on the seat next to Jan. "Hi!" he greeted them, voice ridiculously deep for someone who couldn't be older than fifteen given at what age category they both were competing.

Jan muttered his own response, trying to make himself sound less high-pitched.

"We are driving Jan to the station first, then I'm going to get you home.”

"Thanks!" shouted Bohun. After digging in the backpack between his legs for a while, he pulled out a huge bag of chips. Jan noticed he still had the golden medal hanging from his neck on a red strap that occasionally flashed from underneath collar of Bohun’s rock band hoodie. It had to be one of his favorites, the sleeves fraying and the color long washed out from black into dark gray.

If anything, it made Bohun look tougher and more rugged, creating a completely different image from Conrad who Jan thought was almost exotically attractive. Having seen Bohun on the stage shirtless, in those colorful pants and a feather headband... He always joked with Michal about being gay but the older Jan got the less he felt like laughing.

The Conrad impression was now being destroyed right in front of his eyes as Bohun tore the bag of chips open with his teeth and jammed a full fist of them into his mouth. The way he closed his eyes as if he were relishing in the taste made Jan feel vaguely uncomfortable so he turned away.

It was too late. Bohun noticed him watching. His hand shot towards him with the opened bag.

"Want some?"

Jan stared at it, then at Jeremi in the front. Bohun tilted his head to the side, then followed his gaze to the driver's seat and back. A crooked smile appeared on his face.

"Afraid?" he whispered with an impish laugh.

"I don't like junk food."

Well, that was a lie, one which Jan believed would become true if he repeated it to himself often enough. His resolve to keep the promise of eating properly would not be broken by the cheapest brand of chips from Tesco, despite how tantalizing the smell of barbecue was. He had a modicum of standards, after all. 

Bohun's smile only grew wider. "He's not even looking at us."

Jan, who could clearly see Jeremi's eyes in the rear-view mirror, gave him a disbelieving look.

"C o me on,” Bohun whispered sweetly. “It won't hurt you once. You’re pretty damn skinny!”

Jan took a huge breath, ready to snap out that he just grew a lot last year and maybe to tell Bohun to mind his own business. But Jeremi spoke before he had the chance to defend himself.

"Cut it off, Bohun."

There was a warning edge to his voice and Jan saw that Bohun's smile froze on his face, eyes quickly darting towards Jeremi's seat. But it took him only a few seconds to assess the situation because soon the smile returned, accompanied by an age-appropriate eye roll. Whether he wanted to say that he was bored with Jan or Jeremi wasn't clear but he kept his mouth shut and Jan felt gleeful happiness that not even a guy like Bohun dared to talk back to Jeremi.

This also presented a direct proof (and tremendous amount of comfort) that Jeremi wasn't that moody only towards him. He suspected a long time ago that most things got on his nerves but the knowledge it truly wasn't personal, and that even his most prized student was subjected to it, made Jan feel better about himself.

"What number did you do?" Bohun’s interest sounded shockingly honest.

"Prince Desiré, Act 3."

"Huh, really? I don't remember that. I probably was in the back when you were dancing."

That made Jan only more depressed. Even if he saw him, there wasn't anything special about his performance. Not with people like Bohun competing in the same age category.

"I wasn't very good anyway."

"You were perfectly adequate, given that you were the youngest," Jeremi’s voice interrupted them. "But next year you are going to be better."

Jan smiled, feeling warm inside. His moment was soon ruined by Bohun's ironic whisper that 'the gods have spoken'. Jan wondered if being a teenager meant you have to make a comment on everything. It sounded pretty damn exhausting.

Bohun took off his snapback and went with a hand through his tangled hair. Jan saw him reach in his T-shirt for something… the medal perhaps? But he got a glimpse of something else, a small silver cross that Bohun now held close to his mouth, staring at the back of Jeremi’s head in the driver’s seat or more accurately at nothing, smiling. His face glowed with devoutness as if he were praying or thanking God for being with him throughout the competition.

Even after saying goodbye to Jan when they arrived at the station, Bohun looked as if he were still somewhere far away. Gone was the mirth shining from his eyes. Instead it had been completely replaced by gloom, the weak smile Jan received upon parting carrying nothing but desolation.

It gave Jan the impression that even after getting everything he could have possibly wanted at the moment, Bohun had no idea how to be happy.

It made him feel sorry for him.

x

 

Bohun spent the whole weekend on the couch of Krzywonos, seriously jeopardizing the future wedding with his unholy presence until he felt sober enough to walk home, falling asleep in public transport several times and missing his station by one. Forced to walk home through the streets of Praga, Bohun thought Mikolaj with his dumb comments was full of shit and a spoiled rich brat on top of that if he considered this a bad district to live in. Just because a few houses had a graffiti on them didn’t mean you could act like it was some kind of drug ghetto. It also possessed a character that Rozlogi seriously lacked and Bohun grew tired of forest walks to nowhere years ago.

His and Horpyna's flat could be found in a five floor tenement with muddy plastering that was flaking off on the corners and under windows but overall Bohun would call it the nicest place he ever lived in in Warzsawa. It even had a small fenced garden with vegetables and wild roses.

When he crawled up to to the last floor and pushed open the unlocked door, Bohun began feeling something was off. In the kitchen he found Horpyna, just bidding farewell to an unnaturally short man with graying hair who eyed Bohun with obvious distrust.

“Hello?” he lifted his eyebrows but received no answer as the rude dwarf disappeared into their small hallway, trailed by Horpyna, who was wearing a flowery dress he never saw on her before. She returned with a frown on her face.

“Who was that? Your _boyfriend_?” he sang mockingly.

“He will be yours if we don’t pay the rent this month.”

Bohun’s face fell so quickly Horpyna nearly choked on her own laughter.

“I didn’t know that was Czeremis.”

“It’s not like he’s hard to recognize. There aren’t many mute dwarfs around, even less that would put up with our shit.” She could see Bohun doing the math mentally. “His disability check came today so he was in a good mood but I swear to God if you don’t have the money by the end of the month then it will be you explaining to him that you got upset and went on a bender again. I’d love to see the communication with him writing everything down for you.”

Horpyna passed him a white page, obviously torn out from their calendar and flipped over, showing questions in a scrappy handwriting that made his head hurt.

“A-gain? Is the guy not wake-ing… working?” The moment he managed to spell it out, Bohun pushed the paper away with his hand. „If he only knew how hard I work,” he groaned.

„It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is. If you keep going like you did during the summer, you might as well do some casting with me.“

„Never.“

„It could be fun. Maybe your kisser will be all over Warszawa advertising some spunky perfume or whatever.” Bohun’s eye twitched, face darkening. “Perhaps something easier for a start. A deodorant? “

„You lying bitch! Last time you told me it was an Adidas commercial! And how that ended! My face? Yeah, right!”

Horpyna frowned. „And you believed that?”

“So what? I can’t trust even you?” He had his back turned to her, rummaging through the cupboard for some food. “Who am I supposed to trust then?”

Horpyna huffed, pulling at the dress which was very obviously too small for her. “I don’t know why you freaked out so much last time. It’s not like you were offered to film porn.“

„I want nothing to do with the likes of them, do you understand?!”

Horpyna left him alone. It wasn’t about Bohun being upset by the way his very short modeling career went down. She had to literally drag him there. But the offers to take not so decent pictures by a few questionable people was apparently enough for him to forsake easy money like that. Horpyna wished she could have afforded this kind of pride.

“A letter came for you.”

“I know. I saw it.” Bohun responded, sounding as if his voice was stuck in his throat.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“It’s just the same shit again. We cannot provide this information. Blah blah. You can visit any time.” He turned to her, face flushed. “If I ever fucking go there, it surely won’t be on a visitor’s day.”

“I suppose you still want to do it?”

“Yeah. Got any problem with that?” Bohun lifted his eyes towards her from his piece of a bread, looking vaguely threatening even with a mere butter knife.

“You know I don’t. But tell me when you have something planned so I can make sure you don’t get caught running around the neighborhood with a gun, asking for his address.”

“I won’t be using a gun,” he stared somewhere into the distance, something like a smile breaking into a grimace that made even Horpyna a little unsettled.

“It would be easiest. Less traces.”

Bohun didn't say anything, mind obviously going somewhere else. When he sat apposite her at the table and managed to swallow a few hungry bites, he asked:

“Will you visit me if I go to prison?”

Horpyna rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“So will you?”

“Of course I will. But if you do things the smart way… my way! …you may not go there at all.”

“Can you look? If they catch me. Can you look… can you look at me and Helena?”

Horpyna groaned. “Yeah. Helena. Sure. But not now, I have scripts to learn. And the third eye opens best-”

“\- at midnight, yeah, yeah. Pretty shitty you can’t read cards in the daylight if you ask me.”

“Yeah. But nobody fucking asked you. And I can read them fine in the daylight but I had thought with something as important as your future I shouldn’t risk it.”

Bohun no longer protested, nodding seriously as he chewed his food. Horpyna to this day sometimes caught herself being amazed by Bohun’s blind belief in her transcendent powers. She had seriously rattled him when they were young, grabbing his dirty hand and babbling about violence, circles and honestly, with the place they were in, it hadn't been hard to guess a few things right. Bohun had been one fucked up kid and the dance he had done with Burłaj the first few months of living with them had begun to reach absolute ridiculousness during that time. The image of their caretaker chasing twelve year old Bohun in their half-burning garden, the little asshole screaming ‘Hit me! Hit me! Fucking coward! I know you want to!’ - was a memory impossible to erase.

And poor Burłaj had just lost his head over the kid the moment he'd dropped the captured pyromaniac down on the coach in the kitchen, with Horpyna trailing behind them out of a persisting need to be part of any kind of drama. The man crouched in front of Bohun, his huge form shadowing him from where Horpyna stood, and very severely began telling him that he was never ever going to hit him no matter what fucked up shit he did.

“Tell me you understand!” he had to repeat it thrice while holding Bohun in place with arms on his shoulders, raising his voice as the kid made yet another attempt to squirm away.

Horpyna had to stand on her toes to see. Bohun’s face, smeared by the smoke, was scrunched but it shocked her to see the tear streaks under his eyes. He had begun letting out choked sobs, still making an effort to look into Burlaj's eyes for the whole time as his jaw had shook, unable to repeat what he had asked of him. But what had traumatized Horpyna the most had been seeing Bohun let Burłaj wrap his huge arms around him and sob into Burlaj’s chest, letting his hair to be petted like some kind of a dog.

Even back then she deemed Bohun, who had known Burłaj for barely half a year, as a gullible fool. Although Burłaj turned out alright, Horpyna would never let him get close to her like this. She knew better than that. Even people who initially liked you could one day change and stab you in the back or just dump you out in the world to take care for yourself.

Speaking of which. Bohun was again talking about Helena and Horpyna made an attempt to catch up what part of his whining she had missed, wondering why she still bothered, when it was always the same fucking thing over and over again.

“… and I really messed up this time.” Bohun stared at the last piece of bread hopelessly, loosing all taste for any more food. He grabbed it and stuffed it in his mouth anyway, chewing miserably. Zagłoba's words about ‘The Importance Of Proteins In A Young Man’s Diet’ automatically popped up in his head.

Horpyna began to clear the table. “So what are your crimes this time? Did you stalk her? I warned you about that.”

Bohun had a problem meeting her eyes. “She is really dating that guy. She has pictures on Instagram kissing him and shit. It’s revolting. I think I actually puked on the way outside but Maksym took me out drinking. Then we got shitfaced, went to Rozłogi and….” he retold her everything from that night. “Also I have made another successful jump yesterday. Looks like I've still got it.”

Horpyna narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips in frustration. He actually had the stomach to look proud and grin at her.

She had been waiting for the thing with Helena to end for years but when it finally happened it didn’t make her happy. While she found the girl boring and naive as they come, Bohun made a huge turnaround when he was with her. It annoyed Horpyna that after so many years of trying to drag him away from the hole in the ground, she fucked him once and suddenly life had a meaning and maybe it wasn't just something one had to suffer up to some point.

In a way, she understood though. Horpyna too wanted to move on and forget everything that happened to her, to never talk or hear about her parents again, take a revenge by having a normal lives as if they never existed. But Bohun was trapped, doomed from the start with what he promised to himself, and the only thing that had been keeping him afloat for the past three years had been a girl he couldn’t possibly have a future with. She, like ballet, was something he escaped to but he couldn’t keep running forever. With ballet it kept getting clearer and clearer he wouldn’t even be able to.

It made Horpyna sick in the stomach because she knew how much Bohun loved dancing. She loved theater just the same. They gave them the opportunity to forget who they were for a while, to carry a burden not of their own but of a person whose fate they already knew. It was no wonder they wished to stay in those worlds just a little longer.

Horpyna also couldn’t pretend she didn’t know that Bohun spent most of his teenage years trying to indirectly kill himself, either by doing stupid shit during an alcohol haze or clowning around on bridges. But to Horpyna’s knowledge, Bohun hadn't jumped into Visla for three years until this summer and it worried her, that he could spiral so quickly back and do it twice in the span of three months.

“How is Doniec doing? Hopefully not producing any more children?” Bohun grinned. “I swear everybody around me is having little brats.”

“I don’t know. He didn’t call for a while.”

“And you won’t call him yourself?” Bohun lifted his eyebrows. “He’s your brother.”

“My brother? No! What gave us away?” She finally ended up putting the dishes away and grabbed the dog-eared script lying on the table. “He has his own family now. I won’t bother him with my problems.” After a pause she turned to Bohun. “Stop giving me that look. Think instead about what you are going to say to your princess next week. It better be fucking good if you nearly murdered half of her family.”

“Ah, they will be alright,” he waved his hand dismissively.

“In your place I would be seriously worried that they beat the crap out of you again the next time you show your face in Rozłogi.”

"Oh, Dońcówna, Dońcówna. Don't trouble yourself about me!” Bohun flashed her his teeth, looking like a hungry wolf.

“Oh, Bohun, Bohun,” Horpyna sang mockingly into his ear. “I worry. I do! I need someone to pay the other half of the rent!”

“Stop hooting into my ear, you owl.”

They spent the rest of the day in peace, Bohun’s guilty conscience about the unpaid rent severe enough to go out to buy them plenty of food and show off with his culinary masterpiece that consisted mainly of baked potatoes and spicy kielbasa. He even managed to have a conversation with her about work and his friends without mentioning Helena.

Horpyna couldn’t believe her luck.

-

 

"You are so good."

In moments like this, Jan not only believed heaven existed. He was also sure that he found himself in it.

"So much… better… than… Bohun," Helena gasped with her eyes closed in bliss and he kissed her hungrily, feeling her nails digging into his back.

An awful but familiar sound shocked Jan awake. He grabbed his phone and swiped blindly several times until it stopped emitting that hellish clanking noise. He wished he was never fucking born.

But then, like every other day, he got up and began stretching. Everything in him screamed to get back to bed, to do anything more pleasurable than this, but Jan learned a long time ago to ignore the voice, sometimes mocking himself in his head for wanting to sleep.

What would Jeremi think if he knew that Jan was contemplating going back to bed and calling sick? How could he look the man in the eyes, knowing he skipped practice for nothing? Horror scenarios like this one usually mortified him enough to go through his morning routine faster than ever.

After a month, Jeremi would be teaching his first class, the making of schedules and the worst bureaucratic nonsense finally behind him.

Jan already spotted the differences from regular Pro Arte classes just from the way all dancers took place at the barre, organized and serious, almost like soldiers readying for regiment count.

Everybody was suddenly quieting down, friends exchanging a few quick words and Jan blinked in surprise as one dancer in the fourth row motioned to him with an urgency. He took the place beside him without a word, frowning. The class order annoyed him as he knew too well he didn’t belong in the back but he decided to not mess up with established dynamics just yet.

The second the wall clock struck nine, Jerema walked into the studio and although Jan wouldn’t believe it possible just a few seconds ago, they all got even more quieter.

He wore what he usually did during their lessons, black pants completed by an untucked shirt and leather shoes. His hair was a little messy and Jan noticed the dark circles under his teacher’s eyes.

"Good morning," Jeremi willed himself into a smile and then sat down. "You know what to do," he said and immediately everyone went through positions in an orderly fashion, Jan following them without any hardship despite not really knowing what to do himself. Jerema watched them, unmoving, and without any emotion. Jan knew that look too well and desperately tried to make an eye contact with him. Did he forget he was there?

Only when he began shouting corrections, Jeremi’s eyes met Jan’s. Seeing him stand between his peers offered Jeremi a lot of information. Skrzetuski couldn’t be a corps dancer with his different style but he already seemed to be changing slowly, movements executed faster, legs bent a little higher…

All in all, he had a lot to learn but Jeremi could see his work already bore some fruits when he replaced Kuszel as Romeo’s father in this Tuesday’s performance. Nobody complained, in fact there were people who confused the ‘tall Montague’ with Radziwiłł out of all people. His lips quirked when he remembered Gryzelda explaining that ‘Skrzetuski went a little overboard with the make up this time’.

When Jan was drenched in sweat as the class neared to an end, he felt Jeremi’s hand on his neck, straitening him. He had an iron grip in comparison to other ballet masters but it definitely made changing your position faster. There were no questions if you were in the right place – he simply moved you there.

“Good, very good. Don’t turn your leg so much to the right.” Jeremi now stood in front of him. He gave Jan a nod when he corrected himself. “Higher. Always higher,” he muttered, watching Jan’s legs. “That goes for all of you!” he shouted.

He sat back on the chair with one arm holding the backrest, the other stroking his eyebrow, deep in thought. People were standing, stretching their arms lazily, watching him intently to see if he unexpectedly gets up and starts shouting movements. Few probably hoped he will end the class early for how winded they looked.

Another unspoken rule of the class: no lying around on the floor, even if you were tired.

“If you can't continue, just go home,” Jeremi spat with disgust on his face towards a few corps guys splayed on the ground in the back.

 

The level of efficiency impressed Jan. Only now did he feel like he understood why Jeremi was so well regarded. It produced results after all and those who were lazy didn't have any business doing ballet in the first place, he thought. He wasn't overworking them, Jan felt, simply just preparing them for the stress during rehearsals. Most of the older guys looked resigned if tired but a few sometimes threw an annoyed glare towards Jeremi's back, like now when he reprimanded the young guys for power-napping.

Jan frowned at such cowardice. Why were they here then?

On his walk to the next class he met Rzędzian pulling at the stage cables and cursing in frustration.

"You are here all the time recently." Didn't he still have to go to school everyday?

"Yeah. Unexpected expenses." Rzędzian pulled out a plastic bag from his jacket with a completely destroyed iPhone. "And it's a bit your fault actually."

"What? How come?" Jan blinked and frowned.

Rzędzian looked at him and then shook his head. "Ah, not really. I had shown Bohun the pictures of you and Kurcewiczóvna last week, since he believed the two of you aren't dating. Like _duh_? We all have two working eyes – besides Bohun apparently.” He laughed with disdain. “Fucker looked like he would kill me. I hate to say it but it would be better if he did, my phone doesn't have a health insurance and the guy at the repair shop laughed at me. Laughed! What a piece of shit."

"He really isn't right in the head," said Jan as he eyed the phone, taking the bag and lifting it to examine it properly. "I had one like that two years ago. Actually I still have it."

"Oh really? Well, it's smart to have a spare if your current one breaks or something."

"I would probably get a new phone," laughed Jan.

Rzędzian frowned and muttered quietly. “Right… if you can afford it. But for someone like me it takes time to earn the money.”

Jan’s smile slipped from his face. He wanted to say something and the guilt he felt made him angry at himself. He knew exactly what Rzędzian must have thought of him – some spoiled little boy whose father bought him everything he pointed his finger at. It irked him that people always assumed his life was easy just because their family had money. Jan would give everything he owned to have both parents, or at least to be closer to his father who spent all his childhood working. But he wasn’t going around glaring at people who had that, was he?

Still, the guilt ate him on the inside and not because his and Helena’s pictures made Bohun destroy Rzędzian's phone, even though he voiced it that way to him.

Something flashed in Rzędzian's eyes after that. "Well, it's not like you told Kurcewiczóvna to put up the picture just so Bohun could smash my phone."

Jan didn't have to tell Helena anything at all, she put it there herself. The memory of them asking some guy to take picture of them and Helena reaching for his jaw to kiss him… he kept going back to it when he felt down or just wanted to see her face. And to think this became the catalyst of Bohun’s insane trip to Rozlogi last weekend...

“Are you at work tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Rzędzian sighed rather pitifully. He just broke one of the cords he was trying to untangle.

“I will bring the spare phone over. You can borrow it for how long you want.”

The guy stared at him with an open mouth. After blinking several times he burst out: “No! Absolutely not!” He stood up straight and lifted his head to stare up into Jan’s eyes.

“You got this wrong. I didn’t tell you all that to weed a phone out of you!” He jabbed an accusatory finger into Jan's chest. “Maybe your dad owns half of the country but that doesn’t mean you can just throw phones around!”

Jan was so shocked to see angry tears in Rzędzian’s eyes. “Hey, calm down! I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

“I know it’s nothing to you. But… I don’t want anybody to hear that I’m accepting charity. I just wasn’t raised like that. My parents would be ashamed of me if I went around begging for cash.”

Rzędzian knew this only because he already made them pretty damn ashamed with some of his earlier tactics. Nowadays, his old folks just thought theater light technician was a surprisingly profitable profession and he wished to keep it that way.

Still, Skrzetuski moved him with his generosity. Bohun’s antics were a dent in his revenues but not as significant as he made them to be. Rzędzian only hoped Skrzetuski wouldn't lead the family company one day if he liked to go around giving expensive shit to people he didn’t even know. Just the thought of doing something like that gave Rzędzian shivers.

An idea sprang in his head. “I could only take it if I could somehow repay you in return,” he side-eyed him.

“I don’t want money for the phone. Or anything else,” Skrzetuski added quickly.

“Then I can’t. I just cannot do this.” He lifted his chin and huffed with finality.

“Like I said, I definitely won’t use the phone. Should it lie at home then? Just take it and if I ever need some of those pills you will give me a better price."

Rzędzian gaped at him wide-eyed. "Shit dude, you just opened an account in my bank with this."

“And maybe let me know if you see Bohun getting up to no good next time. He actually went to her place last time so I would like to know that kind of stuff. Fast. I will send you my number so you can call me if something’s up.”

“Yes, sir!” Rzędzian smashed his heels together and saluted.

“You sell pills to him often?” Jan couldn’t contain his curiosity.

"Yeah but Bohun gets nothing after this. I'd like to see that bitch go through the season only on Ibuprofen. Maybe he will make up another molestation story when Chmiel doesn't put up with his shit," he cackled.

Jan’s smirk turned into a frown. That was kind of dark. But he didn't say anything as he thought Rzędzian had every right to be mad.

"What do you know about that?"

“About what? The story he told to Zagłoba?”

“Zagłoba?!” How the hell was he involved in this?

“Right, you cannot know,” Rzędzian sat on the floor and began methodically untangling the cords, now much more successful in his work that before. Telling the story seemed to bring him focus. “Bohun used to go drinking with Zagloba all the time. He is his former teacher.”

“I know Zagłoba,” Jan struggled with the information. “I just never realized he would hang out with Bohun.” Although given Zagłoba's personality, it shouldn't have come off as such a big surprise.

“Well the rumor that originally came from Zagłoba is that Bohun got molested by Jeremi as a kid and that he wants not part in Pro Arte anymore as he finally found the strength to leave the company.”

That didn’t sound right. Not only that bit about Jeremi – that was outrageous on itself and still made Jan see red. But that he left the company to Sicz after he found ‘strength’. Bohun didn’t seem like a person who had to look for strength.

Jan remembered Bohun standing proud next to Jeremi, being patted on his shoulder and smiling. It seemed like ages ago but this man knew what it meant to be the best of the best. He had known it was a privilege to train under Wiśniowiecki and Jan could see no reason for him to join Chmielnicki.

“The whole thing is ridiculous,” said Rzędzian.

“If Bohun wanted to leave why didn’t he leave Poland?”

Rzędzian shrugged. “I think he maybe tried to but his body is too fucked up so other companies didn’t want him. Chmielnicki used this opportunity nicely and took him because his name will look good on the website. Bohun was quite well-known once, after all. Maybe he promised him some cash for the opt out. We all are wondering who is financing Sicz because they are getting shit ton of money and it sure as hell isn’t from the state.”

Even if it was the most likely scenario, Jan somehow couldn’t bring himself to believe Bohun could be bought.

“Did he leave… before or after he broke up with Helena?” Then Jan pressed a palm to his forehead. “How would you even know though...”

Rzędzian laughed. “Oh, I know. We all do.” He kept snickering when Jan continued staring at him, although terrible scenarios already manifested in his head. “They made a huge scene about it. Kurcewiczóvna broke up with him the last day of classes. Following that, he waited for her after every rehearsal of hers and tried to convince her to let him take her home on his bike.”

 _Well shit,_ thought Jan. So they were in a way lucky that Bohun wasn’t chasing their car on a motorbike.

“So Bohun just made the rumors up to ruin Jeremi’s reputation without any real reason?” There had to be one.

He had actually asked Jeremi about why Bohun had left a few months back. The shock in his eyes had turned into anger almost immediately and Jan had realized his mistake in calling a storm on himself.

"I will not discuss this with you. You shouldn't forget there is a line between us. Neither it’s your business!"

Jan, wanting to shout that it was everything to him because he cared about Jerema, had just swallowed it down and nodded. He had been then made to leave, as usual when Jeremi got upset with him, and that had counted as the last time they discussed Bohun together.

After all, Jan could understand why Jeremi didn't exactly react well to the rumors that went around, being an academy teacher at some point only giving those stories an edge. But most people weren't talking about it anymore. If he hadn't been told about the rumors by Wierzsul he probably wouldn't know what the innuendos he sometimes overheard even meant.

‘ _Yeah, he thought he was a hot shit so maybe he was actually insulted Jeremi never came at him.’_

‘ _No, he was just annoyed that Jeremi started pulling him out of performances. Couldn't keep up and instead of blaming himself he got crazy and left.’_

Jan was aware he would have to do something about Bohun eventually, the promise to Helena the only thing keeping him from dealing with Bohun at the moment. He knew that beside Bohun and Helena's past relationship, which Bohun refused to acknowledge had ended, much more stood in the way of the two of them working together. The lies he had spread about Jeremi were simply unforgivable. But when he had seen other dancers from Pro arte snickering and making fun of him, he'd had to wonder what Bohun had hoped to achieve in the first place. Was he stupid enough to think anybody would believe him?

Rzędzian finished his work and stood up. “That’s the thing. I don’t think Bohun wanted to start any rumors at all.”

“But you said-”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fucking mad at him, you know.” He threw the cables on the ground and lead Jan behind the stage towards the scaffolding. “But you know Bohun, right. At least a little from Jeremi.”

“And what of it?”

“He’s a terribly proud guy. Ridiculously so. He’s out of cash all the time but would rather not eat for days than to admit he cannot pay for a round of drinks, not to mention he looks like a walking sports brand commercial. I’m sure even his undies have the three-striped logo.”

“And?” Jan tilted his head to the side. Why the hell were they talking about Bohun’s underwear?

“Well, does he really seem to you like a guy that would just tell everybody he got molested? If Bohun got molested as a kid, he wouldn’t tell anyone. God knows what happened to him in children’s home being orphan and all, I wouldn't touch that, and with the way he is it wouldn’t also surprise me either. But I don’t think Jeremi is the culprit since Bohun a few times clocked guys who talked shit about his teacher back in the day. He only began having arguments with Jeremi the last year.”

Jan shook his head in confusion. “How do you know all of this? You surely haven't been working here for five years or more.”

“The other tech guys told me. It’s more interesting to watch you all do the same shit over and over again on stage when you got a little background. One of them, Sakowicz, is Radziwiłł’s friend and that guy has an uncle high up as you might know. So I have some juicy stuff even from the days Jeremi danced,” Rzędzian patted Jan on his back merrily when Jan gave him a dubious look. “Don’t worry. I’m not bullshitting you. What use would I get from that?”

Jan shrugged. His head was spinning a little from all that information, yet he still learned nothing about the real reason why Bohun deserted.


	9. Fast and Furious

Chmielnicki was apparently having a great day. He marked the movements with such enthusiasm he practically danced with them, sweating right through his vine red company shirt. Bohun couldn’t say he saw him ever wearing it before and privately reminded himself to burn his old Pro Arte shirt at the closest opportunity.

Only Krzywonos looked like nothing seemed amiss, ditching his own T-shirt altogether, as was in his good habit, flexing his arms and stretching every free minute they got. Bohun sighed wistfully upon the sight, thinking he would consider himself lucky if he was in such shape after celebrating thirty three.

The classroom felt nearly claustrophobic with its small size, all of their company stuffed in there for a better part of two hours. It also got hot very quickly – another punch to the face from the management as Chmielnicki cheerfully told them. If Bohun had thought he escaped the ‘them against us’ rants when he joined Sicz, he was sadly mistaken. While Jeremi had looked like a minute or two from heart attack when he had dragged on about injustices, Chmiel didn’t even attempt to hide his obvious enjoyment of being a victim.

“I spoke with Dance...,” he finally slumped on the plastic chair that creaked under his weight. Bohun knew the magazine existed but never actually saw it being sold anywhere. “...and told them about the unfair distribution of donations. So some people are bound to ask Wiśniowiecki interesting questions too. Because why should only we be poked around and interrogated? PLIÉ! PLIÉ! Bend those legs properly!”

“Because… nobody knows where we got the money,” Dabizha gasped out between breaths. “And Chmielnicki won’t tell even us.” She pursed her lips and frowned. There was a permanently pissed expression on her face that just did not look pretty at all. Even when Chmielnicki warned her about sending her to acting lessons, she only managed to piece together a comically dishonest grin. Bohun hoped she would learn it soon as she was his _pas de deux_ partner and given the limited amount of female dancers Sicz had this wouldn’t change any time soon.

“I had heard the donors are from the Emirates. The fat teacher from your academy apparently said it’s the Islamists.”

Bohun stopped mid move. “Zagloba said we are financed by the ISIS?” He involuntarily burst into a laugh. “That old senile dog...”

“Bohun! Is this too easy for you? I can give you and Dabizha extra five minutes if this doesn’t challenge you enough to make you stop whispering to each other.”

Bohun saw Dabizha get all red while staring at Chmielnicki defiantly but thankfully she did not ask for more. Unlike Jeremi, Chmielnicki loved a good cheek, and even rewarded it when he found himself in a particular mood. Of course you had to be a woman or his favorite, if some of the lower ranks tried to disagree with him, they could find themselves on a very thin ice.

“Good morning.”

A blonde head peaked inside their classroom and soon the clapping of heels followed. A sharply dressed woman stood in front of them, short strands of dyed hair framing her angular face. She smiled when her eyes scanned the room.

Chmielnicki jumped from his chair as if he was hit by a lightning bolt. He hurried towards the woman who on a second glance must have been closer to his age than Bohun would initially guess. They kissed each other on the cheek and then stood side to side with familiarity that made one... curious.

“It’s a great honor to introduce you all to _Helena Komorowska_ , our new ballet mistress.”

She nodded. “Pleased to meet you. But it’s Czaplinska now. Don’t act as if you have forgotten, _Bo_ _dek_.” She playfully waggled her finger at Chmielnicki who grinned widely, hands behind his back as a scolded student.

“As you all know,” Chmielnicki continued, “we were the first cast for Rebellion a few years ago and I asked my lovely friend here to help me stage it again.”

“I would say it has been more than a few years,” Czaplinska smiled. “But I just wanted to add that I’m very happy to be a part of it again. Under normal circumstances a ballet like that would be a recurring part of the repertoir but after they’d banned it nobody had been brave enough to pick it up again. It had been done in Kiev a few times but never with the success it had reached here.” After a pause, she asked:

“You still have Filon Dziedziała?

Chmielnicki nodded proudly. “We do.”

“Then all that’s left from the original cast can be found here,” she seemed deep in though. Turning her head back to them quickly, she waved her hand adorned with various bracelets. “But that will be history by next year. We are going to resurrect it and the success will be repeated.”

“Who knows, maybe surpassed,” Chmielnicki grinned, eyes practically twinkling.

Bohun felt the woman’s eyes on himself. Not for too long, but long enough that when their gazes met her lip curled up as if this distant interaction had been something very private. He swallowed, trying to see if she did this to anybody else. For some reason he found this information very important.

But Chmielnicki took her aside short after that and began whispering something in her ear. Bohun noticed Dabizha narrow her eyes at the sight. She then gave him a long look.

“What?”

The whispering duo in front of them stopped abruptly and turned to the class. Chmielnicki waved with his hand dismissively as if he just remembered they were still there.

“Oh, we are finished for today. You can leave. Thank you everybody. Don’t forget that we have costume fitting today.”

“Shit, I forgot.”

Bohun tried to get away from Jaszewski’s groaning. He had no idea why he complained, the costumes seemed to always fit him almost right away given how slim and small he was.

“Oh and since our numbers didn’t double over the year, we will be still doing Nutcracker with _them_. So there! And you should know that while I was fighting it with every fiber of my being to have our own production, Kisiel slimed his way into it right at the beginning of September and went to Kazimierz. So don’t complain to me!” He lifted his hand as outraged cries filled the room.

“Fucking Kisiel!”

“Why doesn’t he retire?”

“Of course it’s Kisiel again.”

Christmas spirit wasn’t really something that one felt during rehearsals but the company reached its unity during Nutcracker. Bohun definitely was an outlier when it came to this ballet as it was universally hated for its repetitive nature. Doing the same production every winter became a chore for most. But there was no other way to say it. Bohun loved that ballet. It was the first ballet in which he performed as a boy and the one where he danced with Helena for the first time, even if just very briefly.

Families of the dancers often came to see it with younger relatives and years ago so did Burlaj. Bohun remembered the childish mirth of dragging him around the theater, showing him things and passing people who gave them questioning glances. For some reason it was important to him not only that Burlaj cared enough to show up but for others to see it too. The man had been terribly uncomfortable half of the time, made fun of Jeremi behind his back, and told Bohun he deserved much bigger role but it had still made him feel almost full on the inside, the emptiness Christmas usually brought to this day dissolving in the sound of that well known melody.

He slowly entered the larger classroom which was already occupied by Podbipieta, dressed in sweatpants and a tight-fitting shirt. During the audition he was sitting down so Bohun nearly let his jaw drop when he saw the man in his full height.

Speaking of people who were too tall for ballet and perhaps would be better pursuing different careers, somewhere far far away, Skrzetuski stood nearby, moving his head from side to side in an attempt to get a rid of a stiff neck. And there she was right next to him, acting as if she hadn’t seen him enter, didn’t know about him at all, talking to Skoropadzka who instead of listening to Helena rudely stared at Bohun. So did Wierzsul, that stressed expression of his even more pronounced at the sight of the public enemy. Bychowiec, the first cast of Rytas, looked like he might spit on the ground when their eyes met but in the end he looked away dramatically, making Bohun smirk. He was one of the guys he got along best when he still had been enlightening Pro Arte Vivas! with his presence. But that friendship didn’t last since Bychowiec would have to grow some backbone and Jeremi’s little soldiers simply weren’t raised that way, thought Bohun to himself snidely.

Thankfully, the devil himself was not present. He eyed Helena who tenaciously refused to acknowledge his presence, despite everybody staring. Skrzetuski gave Bohun an assessing look but was also the first to again turn his back to him to avoid any suspicion about finding him interesting.

“I apologize for being late,” Bohun slightly bowed his head. A choreographer of this caliber was the closest being to God and he always thought it was better to have those on his side. “We were just introduced to our new ballet master.”

He enjoyed surprised looks that this admission brought. Chmielnicki would probably kiss him if he knew.

“Oh, no damage was done, you haven’t missed anything yet. I was just speaking about not having a third cast. Understandably, your director can’t give me more dancers for an unfinished ballet. But I believe you all will pull through. Wouldn’t expect anything less from Wiśniowiecki's dancers.” He quickly added with eyes on Bohun: “Even the former ones!”

The atmosphere in the room got even more awkward, Wierzsul shuffling his legs and Skoropadzka widening her eyes at Podbipieta in disbelief. Bohun fought the urge to move to stand in front of Helena so she would have to look at him.

“I wanted to try something for a start. First with the guys and then girls. Could you all just do a small routine I’m gonna show you?”

He put an old player and an unmarked CD case on the ground. When the music started, none of them dared to utter another word.

-

Helena didn’t know what to think of the practice they just had. The music Podbipieta composed was odd. It apparently would all come together when he got the orchestra on it but so far Helena couldn’t imagine how ballet could fit into war era jazz music. Podbipieta became quite renowned over the last few years but the vision behind this choice was completely unclear. A little wistfully she tried to imagine herself staring for the first time in some well-known, classic ballet. Perhaps _Giselle_ …

Jan brought her back from daydreaming by curling a hand over her waist, kissing the top of her head. They weren’t partnered for this part which was sad as Helena didn’t get to dance with Jan besides the first five minutes when they just fooled around before Podbipieta arrived. But it allowed her to ignore Bohun to her best abilities even though she noticed that he was slower than usual. It seemed almost deliberate but she knew him to be a disturbingly good actor when he danced.

  


Since Jan had a training with Jeremi afterwards she didn’t hurry with showering and changing into her normal clothes, being the last one to leave. After peeking through the door of their dressing room, she deemed it safe to creep into the costume shop, taking the stairs down to the basement. But before she could arrive there, Alexandra nearly collapsed into her on the stair landing, grasping the handrail.

“God, I’m sorry,” Helena said, grabbing her shoulder to steady Olenka enough that she didn’t fall down the stairs. The girl looked very pale.

“He sent me a message.”

Helena made a face. She came closer. “What does he say?” Olenka gave her a flat look. Then took her phone from her pocket and showed it to Helena.

There wasn’t anything particularly offensive in that message. Until the very end.

“ _I have a friend_ _who_ _is helping me with you-know-what. I would love you_ _to_ _meet them._ ” Helena made a face. “You think it’s… it’s a girl?”

“That’s what it sounds like, right?” Alexandra seemed almost triumphant that Helena came to the same conclusion.

“I mean, it doesn’t imply anything. It doesn’t have to be!” But Helena didn’t know if it wouldn’t be the best.

Olenka kept frowning at the screen of her phone and then she looked up to her. “You have good intuition though. You always had.”

Helena thought of a few instances where she definitely didn’t but couldn’t find it in herself to disagree with her.

“Will you reply?” she asked instead.

Olenka bit her lip. “He didn’t stop. I told him that I will talk to him when he stops using. But he is trying at least so… shouldn’t I support that?” Helena saw her resolution to start eroding slowly. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

“But do you want to see him with another girl?”

“I don’t know. No? But shouldn’t I be supportive? As his friend. Only as a friend.” The last bit was said nearly mournfully. “I mean it’s the right thing to do.”

It was Helena who pushed her into giving Kmicic an ultimatum, with a lot of hypocrisy involved on her side. But still it seemed to help Alexandra. No frantic night calls, no begging for forgiveness or blaming it on his friends that he simply ‘couldn’t abandon’. Helena knew Olenka truly believed they dragged him down that hole, giving way too little credit to Kmicic himself.

But drugs were something not even she could get past.

“Hey, do you want to go for a coffee or something? Lunch? I have over an hour before Jan finishes so I thought about grabbing some food.”

“I can’t,” Olenka shook her head. “We got the measurements and everything today and Cichocka won’t let me. I will be lucky if we finish by six today.”

“I’m sorry,” Helena touched her shoulder and Olenka gave her a brave smile. “We need to meet up soon, though. And we still didn’t go to that tango class.”

“Dancing is the last thing on my mind recently,” Olenka shrugged. “And you have a partner now, don’t you?” she smiled and gave Helena a look that made her blush a little.

“Oh thank you for noticing,” Helena laughed. “But we can go just by ourselves, you know.” Olenka seemed to consider it so Helena lowered herself a little so she could get a better look on her face. “Think about it, okay? Let me know when you have time.”

“Thanks,” Olenka smiled, now finally with some cheeriness in her eyes. Helena felt something tighten in her heart.

When she stepped outside of the theater and turned left to take a walk to her favorite coffee place, her mind was still so occupied with Kmicic’s ominous message, that she only noticed Bohun sitting on his motorbike when he was just a few meters from her.

They both froze. It was way too late to pretend she hadn’t seen him. Helena’s heart began to race, mind frantically trying to come up with a reason why to not cross the sidewalk. It was supposed to take her straight to the coffee place but at the same time force her to literally walk into Bohun. She couldn’t just turn away… she couldn’t run away from him. That was humiliating, not to mention bellow her. Who was he, to control what she did like this? She wouldn’t run away just because he decided to stand there and...

It was exactly what she did. Helena turned around but didn’t really run though. Her feet screamed at her ever since the moment she pulled the heels from her gym bag in the dressing room. But it was a price she was willing to pay if it meant kissing Jan’s mouth instead of his chin when they hugged. Although one would think that being on pointe since twelve would make heels easy, Helena laughed hysterically to herself as she tried to not stumble.

“Helena!”

Oh God. Sweet Mary Mother of God. He would make her run for real. Under no circumstances did Helena want to repeat the embarrassing scenes from last season when he would corner her outside the building and demand she went with him, forcing her to tell him exactly why she wouldn’t, in front of all her colleagues. She had to make up a system of either leaving earlier than him without showering, staying late when Alexandra worked late or asking someone with a car to bring her along so she could take a different route home.

But now she had no battle plan on hand. Go back to the theater? Nobody could guarantee that Bohun wouldn’t follow her inside and no, Helena didn’t like the women’s bathroom enough to spend an hour there. A clear image of Bohun snorting at the painted lady on the door and coming inside anyway was enough to make her turn the other way.

The academy building rose in front of her on the other side of the road as she turned left. Did she just imagine it or did she hear the sound of an engine? Sweat rose on her neck and she turned to see Bohun walking swiftly her way.

She would never escape him like this. And what was worse, he would now make a scene right on the street.

Just in the moment when Helena nearly gave herself up to her fate, a fat man came out of the academy building, turning with his back to her again to lock the tall wooden door. Helena felt the world slow down around her. She slipped from her shoes, grabbing them in a hurry, and ran accross the road. A sound of honking sounded behind her but she continued in her awkward run, asphalt digging into her skin.

“Mister Zagloba!” she shouted. The man turned away to her, his hand with keys hanging in the air. But she was already next to him. “Please, save me from Bohun, Mister Zagloba!” gasped Helena.

Zagloba frowned and turned to see Bohun making his way towards them. His expression darkened when he spotted him and Zagloba gulped.

“What’s gotten into him? Why did you run here?”

“Just take us inside and close it, close the door! Please!” Helena at this point didn’t care if she was acting crazy. She would not. Talk. To. Him. Today.

Zagloba finally managed to push the key back into the keyhole and opened the door. “Say no more, my dear,” he made a gesture with his hand like some knight and let her through the door. Now that Zagloba knew Bohun had no chance to get to them in time, he seemed almost suave. But Helena saw how his hand shook when he was trying to put the key inside.

“Oh, thank you, thank you so much,” Helena said with relief. She eyed the door, half expecting Bohun to start slamming his fists into it at any moment.

“Don’t worry, he is not brave enough to actually return to our school,” laughed Zagloba.

“I am so sorry for keeping you here like this,” she said, feeling kind of awkward now, the tiled floor making her bare feet cold. “I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

Zagloba waved his hand. “Ah, nonsense. Lets have some tea.” He turned away without waiting, making Helena follow him.“I have a great one from when we toured in Beijing during the Olympics. Yes, it was actually a gift from Dai Ailian. A real tigress that one, a wonderful dancer.”

“You don’t have to. I’m really sorry for bothering you like this. Please just let me stay here for a few minutes and then I will be on my way.” Helena knew Dail Alian had died years ago but thankfully for Zagloba no longer remembered Beijing hosted the Olympics only two years after that.

Zagloba stopped her blabbering by putting one hand on her shoulder and crouching a little. Helena hoped she didn’t look as scared as she felt. In retrospection it didn’t look like the best idea to stay here with a man she didn’t really know that well. But the fear dissipated quickly as it was hard to take Zagloba seriously even during his best days, not to mention it had been a well known secret that his interest in ballerinas could be nothing more than purely professional. Despite all the weird, and inappropriate comments he sometimes bested upon them.

“I will let you stay here till Jan Skrzetuski finishes his lesson, what do you say? We will have a friendly chat, like the two friends we are, and no nasty boys with behavior problems will ruin it for us.” He beamed at her.

Helena, despite being embarrassed, smiled too. It was actually nice to hear about her and Jan in some other way than through distant whispers of her colleagues, often with an overtone of something not exactly kind. She slipped back into her shoes and unsteadily followed Zagloba into his office.

Helena suddenly realized she had a perfect opportunity to find out what happened between him and Bohun who had dutifully attended and largely sponsored their monthly get-togethers at DUPOL’s. She had always suspected Zagloba was by large taking advantage of Bohun but had dropped that topic altogether, when Bohun went on a rant that yes, Zagloba was definitely introducing him one day to Sahajdaczny, and how _she_ should learn to not expect the worst out of everybody.

She sat in a cozy armchair while Zagloba shuffled around his office. She would’ve loved to take off her shoes again but nobody was going to look at her feet if she could help it. The room was nice, the floor covered in rugs and walls with pictures of former students and teacher. Helena didn’t have to use much effort to spot a younger Jeremi, dressed in a suit with an arm around a tall man in a Romeo costume who looked at his flowers as if they were offending him in some terrible way.

“Do you know who that is?” she turned to Zagloba pouring water form the kettle into two small yellow cups. “Next to Mister Wiśniowiecki here?”

Zagloba came over with the two cups and set them on the table as Helena thanked him. He squinted at the picture.

“That?” He stuck finger into the middle of the man’s chest. “You heard of Ivan Burdabut?”

“Yes!” Helena straightened in her chair. “Aunt told me he was…,” she looked up at Zagloba carefully. As her savior she did not want to make him uncomfortable but aunt’s confidence on this matter convinced Helena there had to be some truth to it. “That he and Jerema were partners?” she tried. Was this the right word to use nowadays?”

“Partners?!” Zagloba seemed more entertained than offended by her question. “Those two were queer as a two dollar bill. Aha, partners?!” the man laughed loudly. “Ivuś had been Jeremi’s muse! He taught him everything! That guy was nothing before Jeremi took him under his wing. Back then they helped each other quite a lot I would say. Jeremi slowly stopped dancing and then Burdabut appeared, kicked from Lviv Theatre for a public scandal of some sort and came to us. We still use his tapes for teaching, I had shown one to the boys just last week!”

Helena stared at Zagloba with an open mouth. “I didn’t know he was Ukrainian. So he came back? He is no longer dancing, right?”

Zagloba waved with his hand as if to swat a fly. “Who cares where he is!? Had been there for years and I never heard him to utter a word in Polish. Arrogant and ungrateful. This is why I’m against letting those types in. Look at Bohun! Similar story, although that one I at least taught how to behave in a polite company. Or so I thought! We are Poles but half of our theater is made of foreigners! Sad times came over us, very sad.” Zagloba shook his head mournfully.

Helena listened to him without a word but a small frown appeared in the middle of her forehead as he went on.

“I was wondering,” she looked in Zagłoba's eyes, “why did you two fall out? I had the impression you were friends.”

Zagłoba immediately stopped sipping from his cup. It seemed he had problem to swallow the contents in his mouth. After looking everywhere around his office besides Helena, he reluctantly said:

“Well, that was before he went crazy and became a traitor.” He took another sip of his tea and looked at Helena, expecting to see understanding in her eyes. But the girl had been staring at him with a blank face, body stiff.

“Bohun kept going on about how you betrayed him but never said why he thought that. I was in Vienna for a week, on the tour, and when I came back, he already didn’t work in the theater and was trying to get into Sicz.”

Zagłoba seemed to be making some hard decisions about what he should tell her. Helena wondered if it really had been so bad, what Bohun did.

“He didn’t attack you or anything, right?” she asked.

Zagłoba was awaken from his indecisive trance and shook his head decisively. “Bohun would think twice before starting something with me! I could take five like him when I was younger but now even though I’m old I still won’t get intimidated by the cheeky brat. He was drunk and out of his mind. But not because of alcohol. Let me tell you, that boy knew how to drink, he had that in his blood!” He kept shaking his head. “But this felt like an assisted suicide. And the nonsense he kept spouting about. I couldn’t listen to it.” Zagłoba frowned, gripping the cup in his hand harder.

“Thankfully, when I told him to get a grip he stormed off, the hothead. He’s not alright in there,” Zagłoba tapped a finger against his temple. “I always knew that. But you know how it is. Never knew his parents. Children’s home. That foster father didn’t know what to do with him either.”

“I’ve met him,” Helena whispered. Zagloba knew a lot less about Bohun then she would have expected. Bohun not only knew his parents, he lived with both of them right here in Warszawa till he was eight. She decided not to ask him more if Bohun didn’t trust him enough to tell him at least that. There probably wouldn’t be much sense in what he said if was completely drunk, given Helena often had a problem to make sense of him even while he was sober.

They chatted for a while about old stars from the Polish national theater and after they finished their tea, a message came from Jan, asking where he should pick her up.

Helena thanked Zagłoba for the tea, promising she would visit him again and bring Jan too as he walked with her towards the academy door. He seemed to be really fond of him, which only increased Zagłoba's credibility in Helena's eyes. Maybe she had been too harsh on the man. Despite showing some common old man’s prejudices, he had been very kind to her so she would let it go.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, smiling cheerfully as they stepped outside. “My whole family on father’s side comes from Ukraine. And mother was born in Romania. So I’m not exactly hundred percent Polish either.”

Zagłoba blushed, opening and closing his mouth in a comical manner. Finally, he managed to stutter out: “Oh, sweet girl, I did not mean it like that. You mustn’t think of me like I’m some kind of...”

“Bye, Mister Zagłoba,” Helena grinned, seeing Jan appearing behind his back to wave at her and make funny faces in Zagłoba's general direction, pretending to clutch at his heart.

“And thank you.”

-

Bohun stared at his phone and checked once again the message he received yesterday. For a while he had been sure his brain played tricks on him, half-convinced that Helena already deleted his number from her phone.

Still, plain as a day, there she was on his display. Bohun’s hand shook a little when he opened the message which didn’t make it any easier to read. Only after he finally calmed down, could he focus on the letters dancing _Polonaise_ on his screen.

You can come tomorrow at 14. We have to talk about what’s gonna happen. Don’t try to call me!!!

For a first time in a long while, clouds opened a bit over Bohun’s head and let the sun shine inside. He responded immediately and spent the rest of his Friday as if in a dream. He swore to come up with what he would say to her but standing in front of the gate to their house he could offer only sweaty palms and greetings stuck to the back of his throat.

But someone else than Helena waited for him in the garden. Mikolaj stood on the tiled steps that lead to the garden pool, a mop in his hand, probably tasked with cleaning it before the winter. He propped the mop against the nearby tree and made his way toward Bohun, a frown on his face.

“Well _hello_!” he spat at Bohun.

“I’m here to see Helena.” He had meant to say more or less in defense but from the face Mikolaj made it was exactly the opposite of what his friend wanted to hear.

"Fucking Helena, always ruining everything!" he cursed as the gate opened. The step he took toward him was practicality menacing and Bohun curled his fists, ready for a strike.

"I swear I can forgive a lot. Even… even this!” He pointed to his nose that still looked like it was recovering from a plastic surgery. “I can fucking forgive all this stupidity around my dumbass cousin but never ever in my life will I ever forgive you doing that to my brother. Do you understand what you made him remember?

Bohun nodded, unable to look Mikolaj in the eye. He didn’t feel bad about what occurred between him and Symeon since they were pretty rude to him and had it coming but Wasyl made him queasy. Although Wasyl’s whole situation usually made him feel like that when he thought about it.

"No, you fucking don't! You don't understand!" Mikolaj was breathing hard, shoulders going up and down.

Bohun stared at him but couldn't bring myself to say anything to that. There was a very easy way to explain but he never managed to get the words out, not even in front of Helena.

"I regret it, okay? I felt so angry but afterwards… I love her so much, I couldn’t take that she would just… replace me?” Mikolaj’s eyes bulged upon hearing Bohun’s voice breaking, feeling true horror that he will start crying right there. Fortunately, Bohun coughed and continued in a normal voice: “I wish I could take it back. I know that I hurt Wasyl and Helena.” He paused. “And you."

"I'm fine," said Mikolaj quickly, looking suddenly very embarrassed. Of course Bohun couldn’t even apologize like a normal guy. He had to make it about his emotions and feelings. Theater truly ruined you like that and Mikolaj thanked God that he managed to get away mostly unscathed.

Bohun stared at him, sensing his discomfort, nearly opening mouth to continue, but Mikolaj quickly interrupted, as if he’d rather pretend that he already forgave him straight away than listen to more wild proclamations.

"How's your head?” Bohun blinked a few times at the question. “Not like you can get any stupider."

"You have the gal to call me stupid? You though _t_ _brisé_ was a soup and you did ballet for five years."

Mikolaj flashed him a smile. "Oh I'm sorry that I have upset feelings of our prima ballerina."

"Dick," said Bohun in a second.

Mikolaj found it was terribly hard to stay mad at him. Back when they were kids they beat the crap of each other all the time yet there wasn’t any doubt that Bohun would die for all three of them. No person he had ever met after shown so much gratitude for simply being their friend. For a long time Mikolaj thought Bohun started going out with Helena just so he had a one more reason to stay at their house.

Bohun followed him across the garden towards the door. When they found themselves inside, Mikolaj turned around and gave him a serious look. After a bit of silence when they awkwardly stared at each other, he spoke:

"Promise me, that this was the last scene about her. This is never going to happen again. If you want to play drama with her, do it outside our house. Either that or forget ever coming here again."

Bohun nodded and swallowed the words that it technically was Helena's house, partly because of the relief that Mikolaj was willing to forgive him and partly because as per wishes of the actual owner, he wouldn't be probably even allowed to look at it form afar.

So he walked into the studio, sat on the ground and started stretching, waiting for Helena to come down.

It took him only a while to become nervous to the point of insanity, worrying what expression she would wear when she saw him. He hoped that he wouldn’t see hatred in her eyes like the last time. Bohun had more or less avoided Helena all week, safe from that stunt she pulled with Zagloba who really shouldn’t be trying to move up on Bohun’s enemy list, as he was already was in the top five.

Finally, Helena walked in, not sparing him even one look, throwing her roller loudly to the ground, and then started stretching with her back towards Bohun, ignoring him completely.

He resumed his own warm-up, watching her helplessly, desperately trying to come up with a way to start a conversation. But the silence stretched and he barely managed to look her in the face. He tried to remember how easy it had been to talk to her, always, even before they’d gotten together, and now he could barely get a word through his teeth.

He opened his mouth many times to say 'I'm sorry' or 'Please just look at me'. 'I love you and I don't know what to do so you would forgive me'. 'Just give me a chance'.

When Bohun finally spoke it was in a low and sad voice.

“So you won’t even look at me?”

This didn’t bring any response. Helena laid flat on her stomach, face away from him, legs spread apart, grasping on one leg, then moving to the other side. Bohun waited till she finished and then burst out:

“I know you are upset. And probably hate me... but we cannot practice like this, with you ignoring me. You have to talk to me if we are partnered!”

Helena gave him a look so cold Bohun wondered how the floor between them didn’t freeze over.

"I have to do absolutely nothing," said Helena with her chin high. “But yes, I did ask you to come here to talk.” She finally turned to face him. Few feet apart on the floor, Bohun stared. Helena had her hair pulled up which always made her face a little sharper and with the way her lips were pursed and eyebrows knotted together in a frown, there was something almost noble in her anger. In moments like this, and in honesty perhaps even more, Bohun felt an intolerable longing.

But Helena felt as if a ground opened under her when Bohun’s eyes became fixed on her. The love in them was suffocating, killing her hopes that maybe enough rejection would drive him away from her.

“You know you can talk to me about anything you want,” he said. A small smile broke on his face and Helena gritted her teeth, hating him for thinking that was all he had to do to make her forgive him.

“If you do not immediately stop acting like we are still together, I will stop training with you.” Bohun’s smile vanished. “Even if I have to ruin everything, throw away months of work just because of you! I will do it! Because you are done ruining my life!” She wanted to say a lot more but was interrupted by Bohun’s dishonest laugh.

“I ruined your life?” He stood up, looking around as if trying to find an audience to this injustice. Then his gaze became fixed on her, eyebrows frowned. “If I ruined your life then you have ruined mine! I did what I wanted before you! I could have been back in Ukraine by this time, dancing principal roles like there was no tomorrow! God, I could have been the next Konaszewicz-Sahajdaczny. But I decided to stay here so I could be with _you!_ ”

“You should have gone then!” shouted Helena, now also on her feet. Her face had been progressively getting redder and redder with every word he had said. “It’s your own fault you didn’t go if you now regret it! How dare you blame this on me!”

“So you think that after three years you can just kick me away after you grew bored of me? Don’t you think it’s a little unjust that I built my life around you and then you just one day decided I’m not good enough? Tell me…” Bohun swallowed and took a step forward, eyes narrowed. Helena felt her throat tighten but still held her head high, promising to herself that no matter what Bohun would say, she was in the right there. She had the higher ground. It kept getting progressively harder to think that when Bohun loomed over her.

“… did you know it before or after you went with him that he is my replacement?”

Helena was silent, biting her lip. Of course that was what bothered him the most. Because in the end their arguments always spiraled back to Bohun’s low self-esteem. Instead of thinking about what kind of behavior could have possibly driven her away, instead listening to what she said, instead of trying to change… She stopped herself.

“Even if I did I don’t see how it matters but really, if you must know, I just thought he was nice!”

“Nice?” Bohun made a disgusted face. “I really didn’t know that’s enough to win you over. You weren’t like this when we met, you know. You used to have standards.”

Helena gasped in disbelief, knowing too well what he had been referring to in reality. She spat at him: “You only have yourself to blame for lowering them for me over the years! Also how dare you say something like that to me?! You of all people!” She felt the disgust crawl all over her skin, at the mere suggestion that she went with the first guy she saw.

Bohun shook his head, voice low. “You know I haven’t had anyone since you.” His mood changed again, the anger now replaced with desperation. He took another step forward, making Helena curl her arm around herself protectively. He stared down to her hand and then back up, the corners of his mouth dropping down, eyes almost watery.

"You truly have no idea how special you are to me, do you? I couldn't stand being with one for a month before you and now? I’m not even tempted. It's like you cursed me or something. You had ruined me. I always did what I wanted. There are others that would be grateful just for me looking at them! And I never asked for anything from you than to love me.” Helena saw how his lower lip shook for a second but it didn’t take long for the accusing tone to return. “But what do you do? Ignore me for months and then humiliate me in front of everybody!”

"You are perfectly fine humiliating yourself,” Helena said slowly, feeling the last bits composure slipping away. “And you made it very clear how grateful I should be that you don't want to cheat on me! Such a pure heart you have, you… you..." she didn't finish it, swallowing every insult that came over her tongue.

Bohun tentatively reached to touch her shoulder and she resisted the urge to move away, turning only her head towards the door.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” he whispered, lowering his arm but standing way closer that she though he would be. “I truly am. You will never see me drunk again, I swear on that. You know I can hold my word.” She could hear the moment insanity crept into his voice, the obsessive tone he used sometimes, as if he were revering an icon in the church. “God, I cannot live like this. You know I have nothing in my life besides you.”

“Then find something else!” Helena snapped, but immediately startled with how close Bohun’s face was when she turned towards him. She swallowed, the urge to move away stronger than ever. “It’s sad that you have nothing. But that’s not true. You have ballet.”

Bohun finally moved a little away, turning his head. “With Chmielnicki… please Helena, you know better than anybody I would never join him if I didn’t have to. The standards there are bad. None of the women there even went to the academy, the rest is picked up from everywhere, there’s no universal style of the corps. It’s… it’s really bad sometimes. And I must know because Chmiel made me train the corps last year. They are trying but the company is new and it shows.”

Helena only found herself shocked by the information that Bohun already taught adults. She was sure he had no idea how significant this could be for his career. Helena tried to imagine herself teaching people her age and felt sick in the stomach. The girls from corps would eat her alive.

“Say whatever you want and I will do it just that you will be with me.” Helena realized with horror his voice was breaking and saw him pause to collect himself. She couldn’t stomach it, to see him reduced to this, as if he were some kind of child.

“We are not getting back together.” Her eyes hardened when speaking to him, as if that could force him to act normally. “I don’t know what you thought, that if you force me, I will want you more? It only shows how little you care about what I think, what I want.” The bitterness of what occurred during the last few months came back to her. The contrast between how Jan acted towards her, always putting her feelings and wishes first.. it made Bohun had done even more appalling.

“You only ever think of yourself. I never gave a crap about money and you dare to say that I wanted a rich guy so he could spoil me? The only person that was always obsessed over money is you!”

Bohun shook his head, as if he just heard the most ridiculous thing ever. Of course he wouldn’t like the truth, people scarcely do. He was mad too, by the way he smirked at her, as if he knew something she didn’t. He stood up, stretching his arms.

“Tell me, how long is this gonna to last?”

“What?” Helena blinked.

"How long are you going to torture me? If you just talked to me at the start of the season, this would have never happened. I would never come here drunk if you took me back like you always did! But you had to start going out with him! I swear the first chance I get, I’m gonna twist that piece of shit’s neck and-"

"If you even lay one finger on Jan I will never ever see you again, do you hear me!” She shouted, standing tall now in front of him. Bohun actually had to take a step back.

Helena narrowed her eyes at him. “If you don't change this attitude right now, this is the last time we are talking at all. Forget about the competition, you are repulsive enough to me that I would give up all the hard work just to get the hell away from you!"

What did the guy do to her, that she could act like this after knowing him for two months?

"And if he decides to start something, am I not allowed to defend myself?" Bohun managed to choke out.

He was suddenly overcame with a familiar memory of Helena screaming at her aunt that Bohun could stay in Rozlogi however long she wanted him to. How he doubted back then that Helena felt the same way about him, always taking his words about loving her with struck and rather haunted expression. Something in him was falling apart, seeing her defend another person like this, someone getting her love so quickly and easily as if it was always ready to be given.

"Jan would never attack you! But if somebody wipes out his personality and turns him into someone like you, sure, go ahead!"

"I didn't know you could be so mean,” Bohun said slowly. “You never were before." And how could she know? How could she trust Skrzetuski so much? She knew nothing about him.

"I didn't know what you were capable of either!" Helena shouted.

"So you don't love me? Just say it and I will leave you alone."

“I don't love you!" Helena shot back. Bohun looked as if she stabbed him. “Was this all I had to do? I wish you had told me, I could have saved myself a lot of stress and Wasyl could’ve slept better at night! Me and Jan are together. Yes, _like that_. So get over me, find some other girl to listen to your rants because I'm never going back to that, not when I can see that I can be with someone without worrying when he is going to snap and do something terrible. And I'm sick of your proclamations about love. It's fucking offensive that you could do what you did before, trying to control my life and then claim to love me."

In a strained voice, without meeting her yes, Bohun said:. "I don't believe you."

“Believe whatever you want. But I am serious. And if you won’t be able to act normally around me then… if you don’t try...” She sat on the mat, staring ahead of herself. Helena thought of proving her aunt right about not handling all the work she took on this year, again ridiculing all her efforts at doing the choreography alone. Even if she did find someone else…. She wanted to win. And Helena knew Bohun since she were ten, danced with him for the last three years almost constantly. She tailored the choreography for _them_. There simply wasn’t anyone better.

They sat there in silence for a while. It had started to heavily rain outside a while ago but neither of them had noticed despite the raindrops thumping on the tall windows of the ballroom.

“I can’t practice with you like this today,” Helena swallowed, voice rough. She thought that she would coldly tell Bohun the terms, that she wouldn’t let him rile her up this way. Helena counted with at least forty five minutes of practice at least.

But the supposedly innocent and shocked expression in his eyes after her every word only added to her own anger and now Helena had to clench her first so her hands wouldn’t shake.

He had no right. No right to act like this after he terrified her so much, after the things he did in the past few months.

“Should I come next week then?” Bohun stared at a spot on the floor. He seemed exhausted too.

“Yeah. That’s going to be for the best.”

It took him forever to lift himself up, gather his things and walk towards the door. He stood there for a few seconds and she feared what he would say. How he would ruin even the last possibility of them ever doing something together.

“See you soon,” he whispered and the moment she heard him to exit the house through the main door, Helena collapsed on her back, arms beside her head and legs apart.

God give her strength to survive this year. She was really going to need it.

  



	10. let's go to my room and talk about boys

Bohun just finished doing pas de deux with Dabizha under Dziedziała’s watchful eye and his back now truly experienced agony, which was why he decided to stay in before Podbipieta’s training and stretch, going over each part of his body with somber analysis of how much he could strain it today.

After listening to Muchowiecki practice variations for way too long, he crawled through the tall window to the roof that was on the same level as the ballroom.

Lightening his cigarette, headphones on his head, Bohun stared grimly at the clouded sky as wind pushed strands of hair into his face. It was cold, he shouldn’t have come outside only in his jacket and sweatpants. But he had nobody to talk with inside so he watched cars move slowly around the theater and people hurry around from their offices and back.

Another appointment with Eljazsenko awaited him tomorrow yet Bohun didn’t feel any enthusiasm about visiting the old man. It had gone almost well last week. Until the point when he truly relaxed, mind somewhere between the images of small ripples in calm water Eljazsenko had advised him to focus on and a vision of himself dancing perfectly into the rhythm of the music. Each step flawless, every movement exact… no, not like _that_ _._

The synchronization went so much deeper than that. His moves melting into one, hopeless striving for perfection abandoned for the piece. Just like back then when he had started as a kid, pronouncing the French words for leg and hand positions without understanding any of their meaning, just moving as he saw, as he felt.

And the feelings Bohun had experienced in that moment were nothing than pure bliss. Then Eljazsenko had moved his hand to Bohun’s knee without any warning and he forgot to breathe.

Panic had surged through his body, the ripples of his mind turned into twenty feet tall waves crashing into him. Bohun had nearly knocked their heads together when had he sat up, gripping the man’s wrist.

Eljazsenko had given him a look full of horror. “I’m not touching you!” Bohun had stared at him tight lipped, chest rising. Finally, he had let Eljazsenko’s hand go and pulled away.

“Lie down and breathe! Breathe.”

“Shut up!” Bohun had shouted, nearly stumbling on his wobbly legs as he jumped from the bed. More quietly: “Shut up...” The words had been getting stuck in his throat.

“Alright go! Go! Run away this time if it makes you feel better!” Eljazsenko had raised his voice at him. “But don’t think you are the first one to have a break down! I had men older than you sobbing here. Young girls that would start shaking like leaves when I touched them. So no matter what happened to you – I had seen it all!

Bohun had frozen with his hand reaching for the T-shirt. “What?”

“There is no way you got it so fucked up by landing at it wrongly. Somebody stepped on that leg and it was no bony little woman.”

Bohun’s hands had been curled into fists. He had wanted to snarl at the old man, to shout at him to shut the fuck up. He had also wanted to hit him, to make him feel a little more of what he had felt, to stop him from saying these things.

_After everything I've done for you. You have the audacity. To not only disrespect me but also this_ _company_ _which gave you everything._

“Don’t you want to sit down?”

He had shook his head, not believing his voice to do the work. He must have had spaced out for a while since he had no idea when he’d let Eljazsenko get so close to him. He’d hated to see pity in the old man’s eyes but had dully accepted the heavy pat on the back Eljazsenko had gifted him with.

“You just got a little startled. It’s no big deal.” His voice had grown more serious.“I’m going to pull you together. But you will be coming as often as I tell you to. It’s not so bad as I first thought, that knee of yours. One day, it will probably need a surgery. Sooner if you fall wrongly again. But keep this up… keep this up and you will heal. And do your stupid jumps and turns the way you want to.”

Hating hearing the foolish hope in his own voice he had said: “Like before I was injured?”

Eljazsenko had given him a sad smile. “No. But close enough for you to pretend it’s that way.”

Bohun threw his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, grinding it into the concrete roof with a tight lipped grimace. At his age, he was dancer of only a soloist rank in perhaps the most shady dance company in the country, no money in his bank account and his body in a state of permanent strike against ballet. Helena didn’t want him anymore and she would still continue this twisted thing with Skrzetuski.

 _Fine_ , Bohun thought. He would wait. He would be as sweet as honey to Skrzetuski and if _Skrzat_ was truly the kind of person Jaszewski had him for, their relationship would come to an end eventually. Helena would hopefully realize by then who was always there waiting for her, who always loved her and with whom she had much more in common than some spoiled rich boy.

Bohun sighed. As much as he loathed to admit it to himself, Helena was a bit of a spoiled rich girl herself, no matter how much she hated her aunt and the house she lived in. Although he offered her to move in with him many times, in his head the combination of Helena’s presence and Horpyna’s cooking as a heavenly situation to exist in, Helena’s refusal was resolute.

Whether she found the flat too small or the district too ugly for her tastes, he only suspected, but her dislike of Horpyna had been voiced pretty clearly. It wasn’t one-sided, Bohun in fact never met two people who had been so repulsed by each other so quickly. In any case he would not be able to live alone with her without any money to support her, so he decided to cut the drinking completely and take it seriously from now. How surprised she would be after they got back together that he learned to save money? He would buy her something expensive to show her. Perhaps he should... His fantasies lasted for about fives seconds.

When he pulled himself through the window, cold feet touching the warm wooden floor, a cursed image came into his view. They were already there. Helena, looming over Skrzetuski sprawled on the floor, kept nudging him with the tip of her pointe shoe, urging _Skrzat_ to wake up with a smile and a slight frown as he ignored her. Skrzetuski’s pretension was soon betrayed by his lips curling into a grin as she dug the tip of her shoe into his chest lightly. Bohun, deeply disturbed, noted his face kept getting progressively redder and redder.

“So you are going to dance on me now?” he finally opened his eyes.

“I might if you won’t stand up soon.”

He watched Helena threaten her stupid boyfriend some more with a frown, wondering why their current weirdness wasn’t in any way bothering Wierzsul and Bychowiec who kept animatedly talking about some fantasy show or Skoropadzka practicing hand movements in the mirror on the other end of the classroom.

Jan finally decided that it was futile to resist Helena’s attempts and rose up, noticing Bohun standing by the windows, looking cheerful as usual these days.

He hoped Bohun felt fucking terrible after the stunt he pulled in Rozlogi. Aware of the promise he made to Helena about not fighting with him, he only glared at Bohun in the corridors although it seemed that Bohun toned down the hostility in the past few days and opted for ignoring him instead.

But oh, he proved to be so very bad at that.

Jan’s smile turned into a smirk as he put a hand over Helena’s waist. He leaned down to kiss her, feeling Bohun’s eyes on them as he did so. And when Helena wrapped her arms around his shoulders, he couldn’t resist to take this a little further, to kiss her little harder, hearing her giggle as she pushed him lightly away, cheeks flushed when she looked up to him.

“Not here,” she teased but reached with her hand to touch his arm as if she in fact wished nothing more to pull him back to herself. She came closer and made a gesture with her finger for him to lower his head. He dutifully offered her his ear, nodding. He began to laugh and slowly turned to see if they were still being observed.

Bohun’s face was dead white. Jan would have expected him to turn away, to talk with Skoropadzka whose gaze kept slipping towards him, but he stared at him and Helena instead, wide eyes and struck expression of someone whose world just crashed around them. Maybe now he would understand, Jan thought, but in the dark depths of his mind still secretly hoped that he could make him perhaps understand himself.

Podbipieta’s training was much more advanced today, singling out him and Wierzsul first to demonstrate the part when Tadeusz was running away from Poland.

“Imagine soldiers retreating. Shells are falling down around you. You attempt to dance but you cannot dance during all the havoc around you and you are interrupted constantly to crouch down like this.” He demonstrated and made them do it after him. “So you enter this city, a completely different world from what you experienced so far. And you can finally dance properly.” He pointed his finger in the air. “Almost!”

They both nodded. Jan found the moves at the beginning a little challenging but stopping abruptly would give him a lot time to catch his breath. It also meant he would start the ballet, be the first dancing on the scene. He quite liked that. Podbipieta complimented them with confidence they would pull through this one and then moved to the next part.

“There will be a scene with the sword memorial which I don’t feel like we need to rehearse now. It’s just kneeling down in front of it, some light pantomime and then we move, move… I want to start fast.”

Vague memories from reading that book during high school came to Jan’s mind. He couldn’t remember it exactly but in the story Tadeusz comes over this monument and prays. All three main characters have a wish there and they all come true at the end.

Helena and Skoropadzka were doing something completely different as they already had another extra training without them. Podbipieta made them run it again and again until he was satisfied. He thanked them politely and then sent them away.

“Wouldn’t want to hold you girls and Mrs Wittowská told me you two have to work on your Nutcracker later this day. Thank you for today, you were great!”

After marking the solo for Rytas Podbipieta made Bychowiec run it first, Bohun immediately stepping behind him to run it as well to show off his memorization skills. Jan had to give it to him that he danced it better than Bychowiec and didn’t look nearly as winded.

After their training finally ended and he was about to leave, gathering his stuff from the floor, a voice of their rehearsal pianist interrupted him.

“Jan Skrzetuski!?”

Muchowiecki made a gesture with his hand for him to came closer. “Here, could you please take this to Jeremi in the afternoon? I can’t get a hold on him and you two will see each other anyway.”

“Sure, no problem. Thanks for today,” Jan took the music sheet and gazed at it quickly before putting it under his arm. “Also I’m Jan. I don’t think we were properly introduced since Jeremi is always so busy.”

“Wojciech,” Muchowiecki squeezed his hand and smiled weakly at Jan. His eyes bore into him with a strange intensity, as if he were looking into his soul. Just as Jan was turning away, Muchowiecki spoke once again:

“I hope you aren’t with that girl just to hurt Bohun.”

Jan stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

Without looking at Jan, Muchowiecki continued. “It’s below you to get on such a level with him. He did a terrible thing, spreading these rumors about Jeremi but...”

Jan turned his head to the side, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“I know you want to take revenge on him for running away but I saw him looking at you two and let me tell you, this won’t achieve anything.”

Jan snorted while looking at the ceiling. “Amazing how you got so much from just watching me practice a few times. Except you didn’t.”

“I had been watching you for the whole month.”

“So naturally you know everything about me.” Jan shook his head in disbelief, trying to control his anger.

Muchowiecki reached for the leather bag lying in the corner, putting it under his arm in a completely collected manner as if the young man next to him wasn’t curling his fist and practically fuming under his words.

“Maybe I’m wrong and maybe it’s not my business -”

“It’s not,” Jan snapped.

“- but I would hate to see something terrible to come out of this. She’s a nice girl and very talented at that.”

Something in Jan reluctantly softened. So this guy was only giving him a morality speech because of Helena? After a long pause he asked: “Are you a friend of hers?”

Muchowiecki came closer. “I knew her father. He was part of our little community.”

“Dancer?”

“No, orchestra. But he passed away years ago. So he’s not here to tell his daughter that she should be wary of strange boys falling in love with her at first sight.”

Muchowiecki saw Jan visibly relax at his words and that had to be a relief in itself. He heard from Jeremi about him throughout the years, about his diligence and skill. None of the children Jeremi had been paid to train privately rose so high as Skrzetuski, and Muchowiecki knew Jeremi prided himself on that. Yet the way he spoke about the situation between Bohun, Kurcewiczóvna and Skrzetuski left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Are you telling me Jan stole Bohun’s girlfriend?” Jeremi had smirked over his cup of white coffee from the vending machine. Muchowiecki knew he had a bright new coffee maker in the office but for some reason he still made pilgrimages to the huge plastic abomination next to the elevator. Perhaps he was making an example for others, wanting to be seen down to earth. Or he enjoyed giving the machine a good kicking when it decided to be stingy, his frustration already making a big dent over the painted faces of a happy family enjoying their drinks.

“Jan isn’t a bad kid. Even if they are just having fun he knows how to behave himself. Don’t worry, this is not another Radziwiłł situation. I know she’s Wasyl’s daughter but the last thing we need is a rumor that I tell people who to be with.”

If this was enough for Jeremi, it didn’t offer much comfort to Muchowiecki. Jeremi had gotten so attached to Jan at one point that he still had to be at least a little biased, even more now that he was part of the company. Not that long ago, his friend still had thought that cutting the ties would be in fact the best for the boy, not offering him the place in their company and letting him make his own way in Krakow instead to learn to depend on his own skill, and not be sheltered by Jeremi’s name. It truly spoke of his character that he would sacrifice a loved pupil because he knew that he couldn’t grow just with him as a teacher.

Now before him wasn’t standing the clingy boy from Jeremi’s stories but a young man full of pride and no small amount arrogance. He gazed towards Muchowiecki with the sort of leniency saved for those very foolish and old to be directly told off.

“I like Helena and I don’t care who her ex was in the slightest. Hurting her would be the last thing on my mind and I don’t think I need to prove myself to anyone besides her.”

Muchowiecki sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to accuse you of anything. I just don’t want personal squabbles to damage this company even more.”

“Tell that to Chmielnicki then.”

“Tell him yourself.” Muchowiecki smiled, “I have heard he is quite fond of you.”

Jan opened his mouth in surprise. Turning his eyes away from Muchowiecki, he saw his own crimson face gaping at him from the wall mirror. He closed his mouth. Jan absolutely didn’t want Jeremi (or anybody for that matter) to get the wrong idea. Chmielnicki tricked him when he pretended he was someone else and Jan wouldn’t… he wouldn’t start that thing with Czaplinski if...

No. Jan knew he would in fact do it again. Czaplinski presented every small-mindedness he despised in older people, arrogance, stupidity and impertinence in one not overly heavy package. He didn’t even break a sweat when he carried him up the stairs from DUPOL’s.

“Was Jeremi angry when he had heard?” he sounded terrible hoarse even to himself.

Muchowiecki laughed. “I definitely shouldn’t tell you this.” He only shook his head. “No, you just surprised him and mostly in a good way. Czaplinski annoyed a lot of people since he was appointed.”

Jan grinned. Still, it didn’t seem wise to risk mentioning it in front of him as Jeremi could turn this into a lesson and if Jan could pick one thing he hated about his teacher it was repeating the same thing over and over again if he felt the message important enough. Jan wasn’t stupid. Still, this quite lifted weight from his shoulders which is why he said:

“Helena has nothing to fear from me. So if you want to worry about someone, worry about Bohun instead.”

“I worry about him too.” Muchowiecki walked towards the door with Jan in tow. “But I am a firm believer everybody will get what they deserve in the right time.”

Jan lifted his eyebrows because that did sound quite ominous. When Muchowiecki and his prim turtleneck finally left him alone, he unwillingly kept returning to his words. They irked him because it wasn’t so long ago he couldn’t shake off the fear that maybe the reason why this relationship excited him so much could be blamed on Helena’s supposedly violent ex-boyfriend still circling around.

Yes, Helena loved ballet possibly more than he did, she was beautiful, honest and he enjoyed spending time with her. But the girls he was with before... they usually didn't have any capital flaws either. Sure, they weren't half as pretty but what if the moment Bohun gives up on her and moves on, he realizes this is like all his relationships. That they tire him and he only thinks of flying away, like the falcon on his back, only living for one thing, not having space for the rest.

This realization unsettled him and only seeing Helena in the corridor, walking alone with her gym bag towards him, convinced Jan that it was complete nonsense.

Had he ever felt like this when someone looked at him?

Well, yes… but that wasn’t really the same, was it?

“Hi,” she smiled and slipped through his grasp when he tried to kiss her. “I have practice, Jan!” She shook her head in faked disbelief and then laughed, making Jan promise to himself that he would never stop making her laugh like this. “I will wait down afterwards in the costume shop? Going to visit Olenka there.”

He nodded, smiling dazedly. “Okay, I will come to pick you up. See you soon!”

What was he thinking about before? Surely couldn’t be anything important.

-

Jeremi watched Jan Skrzetuski with amazement written on his face. That he would adapt was what he expected of him but he never could imagine this level of improvement after such a short time. When Skrzetuski immersed himself in dancing, he gave it everything, absolutely everything to the point of exhaustion.

After dancing an old variation he had taught him years ago, it was very satisfying to see it polished into perfection on an adult dancer. Jan never won anything with his Prince Desiré act but if he had danced it like today, there would be no doubt that companies would drown him in scholarships and audition invitations.

It was very good to have Jan here.

Jeremi saw him now bent over, palms on his thighs, trying to catch his breath with his damp hair sticking to his face. But there was something in Skrzetuski’s eyes that wasn't there before, some deeper satisfaction in himself, the usual cockiness with which he masked insecurity turned into serious amazement at his own strength.

The truth was, Jan could have been so much more so much earlier, but now that he was shown how to be great, he would never forget it and Jerema could only expect great things from him in return.

Part of him really was convinced that Jan would be the one, the pupil who would make him famous, the dancing star that would shine over Poland and even further, his vision finally transformed into a reality. He would be perfect in every sense, from head to the toe, his mind and soul committed fully. A simple action as dance turned into something extraordinary that would take people’s breaths away for many years to come.

Not forever though, Jeremi smiled sharply, feeling the pain in his side coming back. Jan nodded with his own grin, aware he did well.

It was bittersweet to remember Jurko Bohun like this, different but so alike in the things that mattered. But Jeremi had been terribly wrong about Bohun and he paid for that with lost years of effort and a stain on his resume that couldn't be ever washed off. In his mind he wanted to get back to Jan but still kept returning to that fateful day when Bohun had stood in front of him for the first time, dirty white socks, shirt tucked haphazardly into tights that were too big for him and had to be held in place with a loose hair tie.

He had looked at Jerema in expectation to be rejected and already had been showing his own rejection of that verdict on his face, scowling and staring at him with mild hostility. Jeremi had never met a child disliking him at the first sigh so thoroughly as young Bohun. When he had came close to him to adjust his uncouth hands the boy had nearly taken a step back from him in fear but thankfully managed to collect himself, only recoiling a little when Jeremi’s hand had landed on his shoulder.

Jeremi had told him about the importance of expression that carried through with his hands, fingers and arms while Bohun kept slowly nodding with a completely blank face, maybe almost detached, letting Jeremi to position him correctly and then repeating it again the right way.

Well, almost. He had been after all a boy who supposedly knew nothing of ballet, possibly trained very seriously for a gymnastic career as a child but then left to his own devices for six years. The discipline had still been there, the flexibility… he had been a bit small for his age and Jeremi couldn’t imagine that he would be learning to lift girls in two years. But what had Kniahini said about the kid? _Je ne sais quoi?_ The boy had held so much of that he had no idea what to do with it.

Jeremi had remembered to speak clearly, to look straight into those aged eyes, so strange to be seen on such a young face.

"You did very well. I can tell you could be a great dancer if you wanted to."

Bohun finally had looked like the child he was, wide eyes, the joy because of Jeremi’s words literally pouring out of him, wanting to believe it so desperately, in a way of a drowning man latching on the first branch offered to him.

"I want to,” he had said decisively. And then, in a strained voice, he had added: "Please if you would let me join, I would prove to you that I could be a great dancer."

Begging was something the boy hadn’t been used to. From the face he had had been making it cost him a lot to talk like this, used to fighting and clawing his way to the things he had wanted, knowing he wouldn't get them otherwise. He would have to do that here too, but first Jeremi needed to give him a chance and he had been feeling more than graceful to do that.

"You will start taking classes with one of my colleagues. We will see how fast you can learn and then, I will consider putting up a good word at the academy so you can receive a scholarship."

The boy had blinked a few times and then nodded. "Thank you," he had said with absolute seriousness. "Thank you for seeing me." He had added more quietly, staring at the ground. Then young Bohun had straightened and bowed so deeply that for a moment Jeremi had wondered if the boy would hit his head on the floor.

He had stared at him for a while and then had said slowly: “We dancers do not bow like theater actors.” Although he had secretly appreciated that the kid even knew that he was supposed to bow at all.

“Watch me and try to repeat it.” Jeremi had bowed only with his head and shoulders, not the whole body like Bohun just demonstrated and in much slower and refined matter. “There’s a different bow for when you are dancing with your female partner but you have a lot growing to do before that ever happens so don’t worry yourself about that now.”

Bohun had kept frowning, possibly touchy about being called short, but then he had repeated the proper bow without a word.

In present, Jan was doing a little bit of a theater himself, bowing to him at the end of their private practice after all these years of knowing each other as if they were on the stage. But Jeremi smirked and sent him away, still a little pleased at his somewhat never ending need to go the extra mile.

Maybe that was the difference between the two. What one had to pull from Bohun by force was given freely and happily by Skrzetuski. Jeremi in his heart believed them to be talented in the same way, although Jan lacked the thing that made people remember Bohun from a small appearances in bigger ballets, asking for the name of that handsome young man who danced with such an unrestrained energy.

But they would start asking about Jan Skrzetuski too. And soon. He would make a sure of that.

-

“I love the house. Very modern.”

Helena gave Jan a strained smile. “Thanks. My parents built it back in the nineties but if I ever had to choose, I’d pick a normal house.” She put the top of her fingers together to symbolize a standard roof. The house’s top was tragically flat.

“Not a fan of a modern architecture?” teased Jan.

“I love old houses. Really old ones. Like those wooden cottages in Zakopane? That’s where I’d love to live.” She sighed. “It would be like in a fairy tale.”

Jan smiled, imagining Helena in some sort of theater village scenery, maiden’s skirt and all. He would be the farrier’s son, always taking the route alongside the river to see her and greet her. They would marry and have twelve happy children. Of course, after Jan beat up the cheeky herder who annoyed Helena with his songs.

Yes, I definitely should become a choreographer with such novel ideas, laughed Jan to himself.

They passed through a hallway full of pictures with little girls in tutu skirts that terribly clashed with the style of their modern furniture. Jan tried hard to come up with the name of the painter so he could impress Helena but with no avail. _Who_ was it? Seeing the painter’s scrawl in the corner didn’t help him any so he tried to play it cool by asking:

“Is this an original?”

Helena stared at him blankly. “Oh.” Then she eyed the painting. “Yes? I think this was done by some friend of my aunt.”

She quickly turned around, leading Jan upstairs without much thought, while he had a mental crisis over Helena thinking a nineteen century painting was made by one of Kniahini’s friends. Perhaps she misheard it. Jan finally remembered it was Degas but before he found a way to pass this crucial information onto Helena, she stopped in the hallway of their second floor and turned to him with a serious face.

“I need to introduce you to someone.” She looked towards the door and licked her lips. “My cousin Wasyl is mentally ill. He knows what’s going on around him, he just sometimes acts like he doesn’t. He is afraid of new people so I don’t want to startle him with someone in the house without knowing. Don’t expect him to make eye contact with you or say much. We will only say hello and go away. This is fine by you, right?”

Jan was taken aback a little but he nodded. “Let’s say hi to him.”

She stared at him for a while as if to confirm he is sure and then she knocked on the door, waited a bit, and then opened them slowly.

Jan came to see a man with shoulder length hair sitting cross legged on his bed with a book, looking fairly relaxed and eyeing Helena questioningly. He froze when he spotted him and Jan could see fear in his suddenly unfocused eyes. Helena dropped Jan’s hand and came to Wasyl, curling fingers along his arm.

“Wasyl, I want you to meet Jan. He is my good friend so don’t worry about him. He is very nice.” She gave Jan a look that pretty much implied he better be.

“Hello. Nice to meet you.” Jan waved his hand.

Wasyl looked at him from under his hair, his head bowed enough for it fall over his eyes. After a long pause he said quietly. “Hi.” He then turned to Helena and whispered into her ear so Jan barely heard him. “You don’t have to...”

“But I wanted to! Don’t be silly. What are you doing?”

Wasyl pointed at the book. Even without words the message was pretty clear.

“Okay, we will leave you alone then!” said Helena cheerfully. “If you need something, just come to us, okay?” She let go of him and stood up to leave. Wasyl gave Jan a look that clearly suggested they won’t see him any time soon and then dropped his gaze down again.

Helena took his hand to lead him back to the corridor and then to her room, which was right next to Wasyl’s. When he closed the door behind them, Jan asked:

“So your brother, he is autistic? I don’t know much about autism but it’s like… not knowing how to talk with people and doing things over and over again?”

Helena’s face grew serious. She started moving things around which made Jan think she wanted to avoid the question. But after Helena threw a guilt over her bed, she sat down and patted next to her for Jan to join.

“Sorry, it’s a bit messy here.”

Jan thought it was very cozy as he looked around the most girly room he had seen in a while, white curtains, fluffy pillows, scented candles and all of that. A pair of tutu skirts stacked on each other were nearly falling from the top of her wardrobe which had on its side stuck a huge tour poster of Zakharova. He didn’t have time to do much with his own flat yet, being usually too tired when he came home from work. He’d rather spent weekends with Helena or his friends than arranging furniture.

“Nobody really knows what is wrong with him,” Helena sighed. “He used to be completely normal like me and you. And he had been a very talented dancer, people were asking aunt all the time if she would let him audition in some international academy.”

“Something happened?”

“Yeah…,” Helena felt her throat go dry. It had been years and yet... But she wanted to tell Jan and she also very desperately wanted to talk about uncle Konstantin with someone else than Wasyl. “It was an accident. I think I believe that now. Wasyl had caught a terrible flu before Christmas and had to be pulled out from the Nutcracker. Aunt nearly had a stroke but uncle had said he would stay home with him. That was all before we moved to Rozlogi.”

Jan put an arm around her waist but didn’t say anything, not wishing to interrupt her. Helena gave him a look but then dropped her eyes to the floor as if she didn’t know how to continue.

“We were picked out,” she finally said. “Old house. No alarm system. People always wonder why we have the automatic gate and cameras.” Helena stared ahead as if she were reciting a long known story from her head. “We got robbed but the robbers had no idea somebody was still there. Uncle startled them and they just... shot him. We have no idea what happened afterwards. Wasyl was almost twelve back then so we were told that because he is older, he would pull himself back together,” Helena swallowed and then added with no small amount of bitterness in her voice. “He never did.”

“They pretend like they have it figured out, the doctors. But they know nothing about human brain really. Wasyl retreated into himself and never truly came back. Or maybe he just didn’t want to. He had been under a lot of stress from his ballet training. Aunt was…. I think she was actually kinder when she started training me seriously than she had been with him.”

Conscience is a terrible thing, Helena thought.

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing Jan could say. “It must have been hard. You and your uncle had a good relationship?”

“He was very nice to me,” Helena said in a weak voice. He was the only parent she remembered having. And that the reason he shown her kindness perhaps gave her a will to stomach the next fifteen years. That he didn’t take his wife’s side and refused to treat her the way she did. As if she were something unwanted.

“It was like...”

_Like one day you have everything and the next day you have nothing._

Those weren’t Helena’s words and she couldn't find the strength to repeat them. Jan took her hand and squeezed it.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I’m just…. I guess you too wish your mom was around sometimes, right?”

He swallowed, not sure if he wanted to let Helena on the spiral of thinking about his mother not wanting him because… why? Why wouldn’t he been told if she were dead? It made no sense for his father to hide that. Jan also hated he had to come to that conclusion himself, suddenly being old enough to realize that father only haven’t told him if she is alive or not because he wanted to spare him the thought of being abandoned by his own mother. Jan also felt ashamed about wishing a few times his mother really had died so he could imagine her wanting him if she had the chance. He desperately tried to change the subject.

“Is that your favorite ballerina? Hmm.. Svetlana Zakharova?”

Helena turned with a surprise towards the poster. Her shoulders sagged a bit in relief, glad that they left the topic of the rest of their dead family members for today.

“Yes, from those who are still dancing nowadays. From the former ones I really admire Pavlova, the Dying Swan. She danced all over the world. They even named a cake after her!” Helena laughed, obviously in her element. “I could brag about her all day. Oh yes and I really love watching Margot Fonteyn.”

“She was amazing,” grinned Jan. “My favorite dancer is Nureyev so of course I love her too.” He and Fonteyn were partnered for many ballets despite Nureyev being much younger than her.

Helena gave him a slightly disappointed look. “Really? Nureyev?”

Jan was taken aback. Everybody liked Nureyev! “Well, you cannot deny that he was dedicated to his art. He danced till he died!”

“He was such an asshole,” whispered Helena. “And a real primadonna at that!”

Jan frowned. “I hope you are not saying that just because he was… you know… bisexual.”

“Bisexual?” she blinked. “He was gay! Please tell me you are not one of those people who think he slept with Fonteyn just because they were friends.”

“Why are you saying it like that?” Jan laughed with a grimace, shaking his head. “As if people saw into his head and… and knew better than he did! He had slept with both men and women. But they always have to twist it into one or another! It makes me angry.“

“It really does,” Helena said, slightly dejected, noting that for the first time Jan had lost his usual easygoing calmness, mouth set in a hard line and a frown on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Jan rubbed his face. His heart was beating fast and when he finally turned to her, he smiled unhappily. “I guess I should take this from the way.” He took a deep breath. “It upsets me because I also like both men and women...if you hadn’t already noticed. I’m bisexual.”

Helena’s eyes widened comically. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head and every second of her silence seemed like hours. Her face became completely unreadable which couldn’t have meant anything good.

“And… you had guys also? Like...”

“Yes,” Jan said miserably and felt his throat tighten. Please, don’t let this be it, he thought desperately. But he had seen it happen already. It wasn’t nice.

"I mean…,” Helena made a long pause. “I am kind of surprised. But I like guys too. So I guess... that's like another thing we have in common."

She then shrugged with such indifference it immediately made Jan burst into a laugh. He was so relieved he couldn’t describe it. Although theater was filled with many people who were anything but straight it unfortunately didn’t escape him that he lived in largely catholic country, especially since during Helena’s long silence he had remembered her mentioning going to church with her aunt regularly. Jan himself had been forgetful about that since he came to Warzsawa.

“Well, obviously,” Jan shook his head in amazement.

Helena gave him a slightly judging look after that remark even when smiling. “I still think Nureyev was gay. And that he was an asshole. I know he changed like… the role of a man in ballet.”

“Just this little thing, yeah,” Jan nodded seriously. Helena lifted her eyebrows, but decided to pointedly ignore Jan’s comments.

“But I lose respect of any man that does not know how to act towards their partner.”

“But you cannot say he didn’t respect Fontayne.”

“I can say that and I will! I had read he even insulted her in public! And he made other women cry on set all the time plus there are rumors he did much worse.”

Jan shook his head. “You cannot believe everything you read… there are rumors about almost everybody.”

“Including you?” Helena lifted her eyebrows.

“Including you,” Jan shot back.

“Yeah,” she made a grimace. “I know exactly what they could be saying about me. When I die, all kind of stories will surely pop up, but I would have to get truly notorious so my so called ‘friends’ could offer some juicy bits to the press. It’s not profitable otherwise.”

Helena suddenly remembered everything embarrassing that ever happened to her from her early high school years till now and visibly paled.

“I haven’t heard anything mean said about you,” Jan comforted her. “But since we are talking about assholes... I wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay?”

“It’s… it’s about Bohun.”

“Bohun,” Helena said his name as some foreign word she had a particular trouble with. “His favorite dancer was Nureyev too you know. But that shouldn’t surprise you, since Bohun is a first-rate asshole too.”

“What do you mean by that?” laughed Jan. He thought this kept getting more and more ridiculous. “So am I first-rate too?”

Helena opened her mouth to apologize, realizing she may have gone too far, but then saw Jan grinning at her.

“You definitely are first-rate in other ways,” she smirked and moved closer to wrap her arms around him and kiss him. After staring into his eyes for a while, she rested her head on his shoulder. “I just hate it when… when they get away with acting like that,” she muttered into his shirt. “I won’t deny he was talented.”

“It’s alright. We will have to see a ballet choreographed by Nureyev together one day so I can soften your opinion on him a bit. It’s very different to see it live.”

“What have I gotten myself into,” Helena complained jokingly, kissing Jan again on the cheek. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, looking from the window to the garden with cherry trees still partially covered with colorful leaves.

He had to swallow several times before he got the courage to ask:

“Did Bohun also treat other ballerinas wrongly?” _Like you, Helena. What Bohun did to you_ _? Is he the reason why you got so upset just now?_

Helena stared at the floor when she slowly said: “He had like… the opposite problem. I’m pretty sure he was one of the most popular guys to be requested for partnering. I do not think principals would ask for him repeatedly if he didn’t know how to behave.”

But Jan almost looked as if he weren’t listening, stroking his mustache which Helena noticed he sometimes did when he was nervous. “Did Bohun ever hurt _you_?” he asked suddenly.

Helena stared at him. "What? Why?"

"I have heard he mashed Rzędzian's phone when he learned about us. That's not how a normal person reacts. Does he regularly go around destroying things?"

"Oh," Helena still looked struck. "No, it's not like that. I mean yes, he did something like this once in front of me. But he did not hurt me."

That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared to the narrow of her bones. To see the person who you had thought you knew for years to turn into… into something like that….

_And what if he killed that man?_

She still felt sick from how the guy had grabbed her as she had been leaving the bathroom, not as much from the way he had wrapped her hands around her body, but how she never had seen him coming at her from behind, hearing him laugh stupidly as he had pulled her toward himself before she could even realize what was going on.

But the thing she had remembered the best was Bohun standing not even ten feet from her, opening his mouth in horror, eyes going wide as she had gotten felt up right there in front of him.

In the end she had to scream at him to stop, shouting his name so many times that when he had finally paused, the other men pulled him up and dragged him away from the man on the floor. She had never been more afraid in her life than in that moment when she had looked at the lifeless body, thinking he had to be dead, until the guy had groaned and tried to move without much success.

Helena had turned to see the completely empty expression on Bohun’s face and had felt sick. Only hearing somebody had been calling the police had woken her up. She had reached with a trembling hand for Bohun’s shoulder to drag him away from the club. Fear had completely overwhelmed her at the thought of him getting arrested, possessing only very shaky confidence in the purity of Bohun’s criminal record.

They had been circling the street, Helena’s mind in such chaos she had trouble remembering where they had parked the motorbike. Bohun hadn’t been much of help, face so pale she already had decided to not sit on that bike unless he would let her drive.

But the incident in that club wasn’t what had shaken her view on Bohun’s sanity as much as what had happened next. Hair stood up on her neck when she remembered how they had been walking, still looking for the bike, passing an Italian restaurant with little wooden tables and chairs set outside the windows on the pavement. They were empty because it had rained not so long ago.

Shad had noticed him walking slower and slower to the point of slipping from her grasp and then, without any warning, Bohun had grabbed one of the chairs and with one, long swing, smashed it into a traffic sign. The chair had broken in half but he had kept hitting the sign with what was left again again, the terrible clanks making an echo in the empty street.

She remembered that when he had finished his fingers had only been holding a piece of a leg. Bohun had looked at her, madness still in his eyes and Helena had wondered if he would now strike her, hair standing on her neck, unable to move.

“I’m going home!” She had heard herself shout and then she had run, taking the other street and jumping into the first tram that had been just leaving the stop to God knows where. The doors had closed right in front of Bohun’s nose. He had smashed the opening button with his fist a few times but the tram had already started moving, leaving him standing there, staring at Helena with open mouth and something indescribable in his eyes.

He of course had gotten to Rozlogi much sooner than her, as she feared he would, leaning over his bike, staring at the pavement in front of the gate. The hour it had taken her to get home had been one of the worst in her life, rewinding what had happened over and over, Bohun’s gone expression in front of her every time she had closed her eyes.

When she had waltzed towards him, he had said quietly, without looking at her:

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Helena had said coldly. She hated how relieved she had felt when he had finally lifted his eyes from the ground and they had lacked any of that desperate haze she had glimpsed there while they were on that street.

“I should have killed that piece of shit. At least you would have a good reason to be mad at me and not for fucking up some chair.”

Helena had shivered. “Let me in.”

Bohun had been blocking her way inside by standing in front of the gate. Helena still haven’t had pressed the button, although she could have had, somebody had been at home with the light coming from the kitchen and the living room. They hopefully would have gone to see what was going on if they had seen them arguing in front of the gate.

“I’m sorry you saw that. I wish you didn’t. But please…. don’t be mad at me, _zozulka_. I did that only-” He had been towering over her, making her heart beat faster. She had taken a step back.

“Can’t you see I’m afraid of you?”

“Afraid of me?” his voice had jumped high. Then he had laughed. “You have nothing to be afraid of!!

He had tried to put his hand on her shoulder but she had flinched.

“I saw that!”

“That wasn’t me being angry at you!” Bohun had ran fingers through his hair in frustration. “I was just taking it out on something.”

It had upset Helena how carelessly he had said that. As if it was normal to break things – things that didn’t even belong to you – when you were upset.

“Next time you lose it? What if I’m the closest thing for you take out your anger on?”

Bohun had frozen, looking at her with nearly open mouth, the green-blue eyes wide. For a moment she had felt he was truly mad at her when shock had been replaced by anger, in this terrible way he never happened to be angry at her before. Bohun had turned his back towards her, staring ahead at the house.

“Don’t… don’t say things like that to me. Ever.” The icy tone of his voice had threw her completely off. He never had spoke to her this way which was why she had not been able to utter a word to that, standing there cold, tired and secretly hoping this all had been just a bad dream.

“I would never hurt you and you know that,” he had sounded very hoarse, every word coming from his mouth a small fight. Then he had turned towards her and this was finally the expression she had known, the desperate way he had been looking at her as if his life depended on her one word.

She had gotten used to that look but Helena with horror realized she now would have to get used to this too. Something in her heart hardened and when she had looked at him again Helena had realized she did not want to get used to that. Ever.

Maybe she had been a coward to not break up with him right there. Helena haven’t told Jan what stopped her then. Instead they had broken up months later over a small thing, one that just landed on the top of other small things accumulating for months. Bohun himself had spent the other part of the year giving her reason after reason to convince her she would be doing the right thing, turning slowly into someone she hadn’t known, who she no longer understood.

It had been a relief to finally do it. She hadn’t even cried.

Jan had listened to all of this quietly with a small frown on his face, stroking her hand from time to time. In the end he had said:

“Would you feel better if I was there when you practice with him?”

Would she? Helena was not going to feel good about Bohun for a very long time, if ever. She shook her head.

“You don’t have to worry about that. He wouldn’t do anything to me personally. I’d like to think I know him enough at least for that.

“And your cousins?”

Helena smiled bitterly. “Oh, they are friends again already.”

Jan didn’t like any of this. He wished that he could do something, perhaps talk to Bohun but Helena already told him there was no sense in that.

“Also I want to surprise you with the choreography,” Helena smiled at him. “Wouldn’t be really the same if you saw us dancing it all these months, would it?”

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might contain some grammar errors.


	11. Perfekt

With the first Nutcracker rehearsal, both companies erupted into a chaos. Kisiel watched over the whole thing without any joy in his eyes, possibly already wishing to be freed from what had to be at least his thirtieth production of the ballet. Jeremi allegedly once tried to convince the board to get rid of Kisiel as a ballet master but to this day there wasn’t any inclination of them doing that. And Nutcracker was the only ballet that always completely sold out.

Helena greeted the corps girls stretching in the backstage and went to warm up herself, going over her Snow Queen number in her head as she threw her stuff next to the curtain and joined two other women from Sicz on the stage. She still hoped they would change the _pas de deux_ so she could dance with Jan but it was unlikely she wouldn’t get Poniatowski whose principal partner Żytyńska was injured during the last performance of Romeo and Juliet. Helena suspected it didn’t happen during the last performance that Ela kept dancing over it for a while so she could finish the ballet. Nevertheless, nobody could ask of her to invest the same energy into Nutcracker.

Helena rose from her forward split when a bunch of wide eyed children appeared under the stage, some accompanied by their parents carrying their backpacks and coats. It became very clear who was in the theater for their first time and she smiled, thinking of the day aunt took her here to see Wasyl as Fritz in Nutcracker.

“Halzska! Halzska!” she turned to see a girl with short blonde hair running up the stairs to the stage with another one in tow. Helena crouched down to hug her, excited to see them. It was no surprise that they ended up in the theater. She taught them during her aunt’s intensive summer course and they were both her favorite students.

“Basia! You cannot just jump in there,” Krzysia gasped breathlessly, blowing stray strands of dark hair from her face, when she caught up to them. She didn’t take her eyes off Helena, looking at her practice warmers and old company T-shirt in religious awe.

Helena moved to hug the taller girl who was bound to end up this year’s Clara. Krystyna already appeared so grown up already, so beautiful that Helena felt a surge of protectiveness over her, remembering too well how it was like to be thirteen.

“It’s so cool to see you!” Basia danced around them, too excited to stand on one place. “I hoped to dance Clara this year but it’s true I’m still too small and too fat for ballet anyway. I can’t believe we are _here._ Do you think I could see Radziwiłłowa?”

“Who said that? That you are fat?” Helena frowned, letting Krystyna go. “You know that is not true, right?”

“Oh, I know I’m not _really_ fat. It doesn’t bother me! I’m here just to be with Krysia anyway!” Basia giggled and hugged her blushing friend.

Helena doubted it didn’t bother her. Basia was barely twelve and very small for her age, although nobody could be really sure of what would happen to her during puberty. She had the turnout, hamstrings and very firm muscles necessary for ballet. Not even her aunt talked to children this way nowadays and Helena felt anger bubbling inside her.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bohun talking to that friend of his, which didn’t brighten her mood at all. Sicz and Pro Arte still at this point practiced the ballet more or less separately but by the end of the week they would start piecing it together and she would have to see him all the time. So would Jan and that worried her. Somehow, when Bohun yet again crawled his way into their conversations, Jan started to get very dismissive, as if he was in no real danger from him and Helena hated it. She glared at Bohun when she noticed him staring at her.

Bohun regretfully stopped watching Helena and turned to Jaszewski who finally ended up buttoning up his soldier uniform.

“Damn,” he groaned, moving arms around in circles, nearly hitting Czarnota in the face. “It’s too tight.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Jaszewski turned Bohun with a suspicion written on his face. “Yes, but God, am I afraid when you talk like this.”

He rolled his eyes. “Listen, you know Skrzetuski. You had danced with him for years, right?”

“Not that long. You see, our pas de deux was rather dry,” Jaszewski laughed. “But yeah, we hanged out for some time.”

His eyes narrowed when Bohun leaned closer and smiled. “Did he ever do something bad?

Jaszewski was staring at him as if to judge if he was being serious. He burst out laughing. “Jesus Christ, help me.”

Bohun’s smile began to disappear. “You should tell me if you know something. Or perhaps you need some motivation?” He turned his head to the side, smiling dangerously. “To open that little mouth of yours?”

Jaszewski's face went through at least dozen of expressions, wondering if Bohun ever thought about the things he said when he threatened people. Refusing to dwell on the mix of anger and vague arousal he felt, Jaszewski tried to dig out the memories of sixteen year old Skrzetuski which wasn’t too hard.

“He got into fights a lot. Apparently nearly got expelled from high school for something like that.”

“Did he send someone to the hospital?” Bohun’s eyes widened, experiencing a rare moment of joy. Jaszewski noted he was progressively becoming more and more unbearable. Yesterday, when Pushkarenko suggested he should just go out and get laid, Bohun ended up smothering him with the Rat King costume.

“No, he never really hurt anyone. I’ve heard… well that’s what he told me… that he got bullied a lot in school when he was younger so he learned how to fight. He had this friend who was really good at it? I don’t know for sure, it’s been a while.”

Bohun didn’t think bringing Skrzetuski’s brawling history up with Helena would do him any good as he would still end up looking worse than him in this comparison. She was not the biggest fan of his coping strategies, having little understanding of what it was like to be the smallest person in class, looking the way he had looked. Back then he had learned that violence solved a lot of problems quickly and he'd never been a person with much time.

“What about the girls he had been with?”

“What about them?” Jaszewski was puzzled.

“How did he treat them? Is there maybe someone we know that he slept with?” Surely, Skrzetuski could not be as perfect as he seemed.

“Easy there,” Jaszewski breathed out, noticing a flash of fanaticism in Bohun’s voice. “I don’t think we have anyone from Krakow here besides him at the moment.”

“And besides you.”

“… yeah,” he swallowed, avoiding Bohun’s eyes. After a pause Jaszewski admitted quietly: “I slept with Skrzetuski. And I wasn’t the only one. I mean the only guy.”

“What?” Bohun stared at him open-mouthed. “But she… he is with her...”

“Yeah, he’s not straight. Does your sweetheart know that?”

Jaszewski regretted what he had said immediately. It had been ages since he fell out with Skrzetuski and to sink this low just because of hurt feelings? But then again, it was Bohun who was asking and anyone who knew him could testify that he was very difficult to resist, perhaps even more when he was asking nicely. And Skrzetuski had never kept it a secret.

“He’s not gay. He’s like…,” Jaszewski sighed. _You._ Was there even any point to say it? And test Bohun’s temper?

The man in front of him began stretching again, examining his half torn shoe pensively. “Good, good. Anything else?”

“Hmm, no. Not really. He is no criminal. Only annoying sometimes.”

Jaszewski wondered if maybe Skrzetuski had changed with age but something told him he probably only got worse. “When I met him he was totally obsessed with Jeremi, bragging to everybody about their private training. God, he was such a prick about it. Even I was sick of it and I liked our good man Jarema. Skrzetuski had been definitely in love with him back then.”

He laughed, finding the mere idea amusing. The stern and emotionally unattainable Jeremi returning affections of the sixteen year old Skrzetuski. Sometimes the poor guy had really made himself sound as if he had believed it possible.

“We kept talking about how people hated him just because he was gay and how unfair it is,” Jaszewski made a sad face and then laughed again. “People hate him because he’s a bitch.”

Bohun offered his own, dishonest smile.

“When I auditioned for Pro Arte, I thought about Skrzetuski dying of jealousy if he knew I was there. And not even three years go by and the asshole is in Warszawa, higher rank than me, becoming officially Jeremi’s apprentice...” Jaszewski shook his head.

“But I guess there’s nothing to envy there.” He turned to Bohun, anticipating he would offer his own two cents on that topic but he was disappointed.

Bohun only stared ahead, thoughts running through his head at an alarming speed. Learning more about Skrzetuski somehow made him more real and he had no idea what to do about that.

-

Jan was excited to see Jeremi during another of their Zerwikaptur training sessions. When Podbipieta would leave for _Wilno_ again, Jeremi would become the one tasked with teaching them the ballet, making sure they learn their parts the way their choreographer envisioned them.

Bohun with Bychowiec joined them just in time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bohun pause when he spotted Jeremi. A manic grin appeared on his face as if nothing could be better than to see his old teacher there. Jan wanted to bodily put himself in front of Jeremi so he would stop staring at him like a madman.

“First, I would like to try something,” Podbipieta said. “You see, there’s a moment where Rytas attacks Tadeusz but instead of taking him head on, Tadeusz shrugs him off as if he were nothing. He doesn’t want to give him the power of acknowledging him as his rival. Not openly and not now!”

Jeremi was the first to speak after Podbipieta explained properly what he wanted them to do. “You want them to roll over each other’s backs?”

“He’s going to lift him,” Podbipieta nodded, hinting this part was not negotiable.

Wierzsul tried it with Bychowiec but the first difficulty right there proved to be make a proper contact.

“Don’t just run up to him and then stop!” Jeremi shouted at Bychowiec. He turned to Podbipieta, clearly unimpressed.

“We could try it,” Jan said, smiling.

“I don’t think he’s gonna be able to lift me,” Bohun looked at Jan contemptuously, nose crinkled. Skrzetuski could be taller than him but Bohun doubted he was particularly strong. Very few people put so much time into building upper body strength like he did, he thought with pride.

“Why not?” Skrzetuski turned to him, eye challenge. “I’ve lifted guys back home.”

Bohun wished for nothing more than to lift Skrzetuski and throw him all the way back to Krakow.

“I bet you did,” he said through his teeth. Skrzetuski only frowned.

They got into the position, just marking it first to find out how far from each other they should be so they didn’t end up like Wierzsul and Bychowiec. Following Podbipieta’s counts Bohun began. He felt tension just from touching Skrzetuski lightly with his back when they met mid-way, everything screaming inside him when he was turned away from him and then swiftly walked over to the other end of the classroom. Now it was time to do it properly.

“Should I run or… jump there?” he asked Podbipieta, thinking it would be stupid to just waltz at Skrzat. Best to charge at him with some big, impressive jump like butterfly. His knee ached in horror at his idea which he was just about to suggest to Podbipieta when Jeremi said:

“Put your hand up like you are about to hit him. You know how, don’t you?”

It was like a cold shower for Bohun. Skrzetuski’s features in front of him became barely distinguishable. Desperately, he tired to focus but the words kept ringing in his ears. He turned to Podbipieta to see what he should do, which thankfully ended up being nothing like the images that went through his head just now.

Still, Podbipieta had to come over to position him with his hands himself, Bohun unable to copy him just from watching. This was not like him, he got things fast, he had to, he had to be the best because if he ended up mediocre then nobody would be interested in him anymore, they would just let him rot.

“You know what to do? Bohun?” Jeremi’s voice made him take a hitched breath. He could do this. In fact it was Jeremi who should be worried about him and not the other way. He could become _very_ dangerous. Yes, of course he remembered the move. He was also delighted Jeremi didn’t forget either, it was a pleasure to teach him something back. Maybe he would teach him some more in the future. Then he wouldn’t have to resolve to fighting dirty, would he? Bohun would make sure he understood all of his best moves perfectly. That was just the way a good teacher worked, didn't he?

“Yes, of course,” he said, smiling a little, his mind again a place of his own.

He made a step towards Skrzetuski, turned and then lifted his hand curled into a fist, made another quicker step during which he pushed himself from the floor.

And then he was flying through the air so fast he barely managed to land properly, his landing followed by an embarrassingly loud thud. The way Skrzetuski grabbed Bohun by his arm and threw him over his back had been one of the most horrifying seconds of his life. How? How could he just push him like this? As if… as if he weighed nothing!?

Jan felt terrible amusement at the way how utterly crossed Bohun looked. He stood there with curled fists, hair wild around his face which kept turning crimson red, eyes gleaming with hatred. He was heavy, no doubt about that, but Jan did so much work on himself he would be surprised if he had problems in maneuvering one guy for a few seconds.

“That was it! Just how I imagined it!” Podbipieta clapped his hands, walking over to them.

Bohun still looked deadly pissed, standing there with his hands crossed over his chest. Bychowiec didn’t appear much excited either, leaning towards Wierzsul to whisper something into his ear.

 _Ah, jealousy_ , thought Jan with a humor, _how I've missed you_.

-

“Jan?” Jeremi asked as he was leaving the class. “Have any appointments now?”

He froze on the spot. “No,” he said, heart beating a bit faster.

“Then come with me to my office.”

“Yes, of course,” he swallowed, knowing the look Jeremi gave him too well. Just a little too intent, too lingering for him to mean anything else. He didn’t know what to do. He should talk with him about Helena. About how next time Jeremi calls him he won’t be able to come. Jan felt sick in the stomach as he followed him, reprimanding himself for acting as if his life was at stake. Jeremi surely wouldn’t throw him out of the company because of this? Jan choked down a hysterical laugh and Jeremi gave him a look as he followed him up the stairs.

His dad always said actions had consequences. This was why Jan never wanted to make any decision in his life.

Jeremi opened the door with his keys and let himself and Skrzetuski inside. He walked around his table to find the papers he needed him to sign, thinking it was the best to get this over with as soon as possible.

“You got your two month period over so you will be now receiving what is appropriate for the first soloist.”

“You just need me to sign this?”

Jeremi smirked and looked at the man in front of him, so obviously flustered. It was a small wonder he still had this effect on him after all these years.

“What did you think?” he asked innocently, seeing him go red. “Well, unless you disagree with the contract or don’t find the company to your tastes...”

“What? No! Are you joking?” Skrzetuski laughed humorlessly, reached for the pen and signed the paper quickly. “There is no other place I would like to be.” His eyes were serious, his lips pressed tightly together. “But...”

 _But?_ Jeremi’s eyes widened. Skrzetuski actually was dissatisfied with something? He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.

Skrzetuski noticed the change in his expression and immediately creases of worry appeared on his forehead, voice much less certain than before. “I actually want to talk with you about something. It’s… well...”

Just when he wanted to reprimand him from stuttering, Skrzetuski thankfully remembered himself. Standing straight with his hands behind his back, he grinned and said:

“I have fallen in love.”

“With Kniahini's girl?” Jeremi lifted his eyebrows. Was that it?

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I really want to take it seriously with her.”

“You should,” Jeremi said with a small smile. He felt flattered that Jan chose to come up and tell him this. After all they were both his employees. “She doesn’t have much experience and definitely needs to grow artistically. Yet I have nothing but high hopes for her.”

Just the fact that Kniahini never even tried to send her to some international academy showed she had a bit of national pride and saw her future in this company. The place was built on loyal people more than on dreams and creative visions. Certainly not on money, thought Jeremi darkly and remembered that he was about to have a visit concerning that.

Skrzetuski was looking at him flabbergasted with his parted lips and wide eyes. Did he truly think that he would be displeased?

The door opened and Zamoyska swiftly walked in, as always completely disregarding knocking. She greeted both of them, then looked pointedly at Jan and back to him. Jeremi wished she had chosen a better time to barge in but also knew Zamoyska wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t important.

"I counted it all again and it looks we are losing revenues either way.” It was about their program for the next year. “The joint Nutcracker makes no sense as it carries away money to Sicz in inappropriate amounts."

"They won't dance if they don't get the extra for it. Oh how would I love to kick them out," Jerema said through his teeth.

"We wouldn’t have enough people for as many performances. This would cost us half of our revenues.” She shook her head at him, blonde curls fluttering. “Don't you dare."

Jeremi drummed with his fingers on the table in annoyance, jaw clenched. It was a disturbing sight to Jan, feeling awkward in his unnoticed presence.

"TV promotion?" Jeremi asked after a while.

Zamoyska narrowed her eyes. "Who is going to pay for it?"

"Chmielnicki uses media all the time. Surely... surely we can make it about their own advantage..."

"Chmielnicki sells his own stories to the gutter. Not like you don't have plenty to sell either..." She eyed Jan questioningly. "I hope we are not holding you here. Was there something important you wanted to discuss with him?" She nodded towards Jeremi.

"Me? Oh, no," Jan blushed. He only hoped to escape. "I should be going then"

"Goodbye," Zamoyska said slowly, eyeing him with hands crossed and clear disapproval. After Jan disappeared into the corridor, she turned to Jerema.

"I thought you said he is no longer in love with you."

The man lifted his head, frowning at her. It didn't look like he appreciated being interrupted from his deep thoughts. Unfortunately, Zamoyska cared very little.

"Skrzetuski! You said that was done with when you told me about bringing him here. And yet he acts still like a fifteen year old love-struck boy."

"Jan is very loyal to me. I see nothing wrong with that."

Zamoyska gave him a hard look. He shrugged. "If you are worried about Skrzetushevo..."

"Yes, I am worried about public relations with one of our largest donors. I’m glad you didn’t forget."

"I won't have another Radziwiłł in my ranks," Jeremi's lip curled. How he loathed that arrogant up-start. Too bad they didn't want him in France. Jeremi would pay for the flight tickets himself if he could.

"Don't push him too hard."

Jeremi leaned back in his chair, looking almost crossed with her. "You are asking me to disadvantage Skrzetuski then,” Jeremi’s voice rose and he turned his back to her. “To not foster his talent properly and let him rest on his laurels. He is going to be great." He stared outside of the window on the street. "I know it."

"I would trust you more if you haven't said that before."

Jeremi turned sharply to her. "So you don't trust me?"

Zamoyska looked at him disapprovingly but then sighed and walked over to him. "I know you have the best of ballet in mind. But world isn't just ballet. There are concerns that you can't fix by showing them how to dance something."

"As if I don't know!” He threw his hand in the air. “I pour everything I have into this and yet I am stabbed in the back constantly!"

"Not by me," he felt her grasp his shoulder, looking with him at the square in front of the theater, nails digging into his skin. She never had been a gentle girl, even when they had danced together ages ago, old Mohila could scarcely find a nice word for her.

Gryzelda Zamoyska knew very little of how to follow. But she sure knew how to lead. The corner of Jeremi’s lip twitched.

He could trust her as well.

-

A week later Helena sat on the floor of her room in Rozlogi with her guitar in hands. Bunch of well-thumbed stickers were plastered over it, cartoon characters from chewing gums and flower ornaments Helena had found in girl magazines. She eyed Jan quickly to check if he was watching and then knitted her brows and looked down at the guitar in her hands, positioning her fingers carefully.

Helena began frowning even harder as she brushed the strings, playing the first few chords. And then she began to sing. She lifted her head up slowly with a pained expression on her face.

“I found a love. _Foor meee_. Darling just dive right in and…. follow my lead.”

Jan burst out laughing. He curled a fist in front of his mouth to stop himself from interrupting her but it was hopeless.

“Well I found a girl. Beautiful and sweet,” she gave Jan a meaningful look. He pointed at himself, giving her the best bashful smile he could muster.

Helena kept staring at him from under her eyelashes as she played, failing badly to keep herself in the role of Bohun, every frown and eyelids pressed tightly together in agony followed by her mouth curling up into a smile, flashing her teeth.

She soon stopped trying completely, the false depth of her voice replaced by her own and Jan never before really had paused to think of how beautifully she sounded. Helena’s voice was strong and deep and hearing it felt like a touch on his soul. With the dark hair falling down her shoulders, eyes closed while her chest rose with every breath she took, he began to forget where he was, ready to let himself get further carried away by the melody.

It had been hard for him to understand why someone like Helena was with Bohun for so long but he was suddenly hit with an image of her sitting next to him, both of them singing together, his deeper voice joining hers. Jan’s heart ached at the thought, imagining Bohun sitting on his place right now, with the same thoughts about Helena running through his head.

She finished the song and then smiled at Jan triumphantly. “He plays it too slow. He always plays everything too slow,” she shook her head.

In the middle of the week Bohun had brought his guitar into the theater, possibly to entertain himself during the long waiting periods between their parts in the Nutcracker rehearsals. Helena had felt suspicious about it from the very beginning since he had started entertaining the group in the wings, shaking his head at some of the song requests he had been getting offered, going from old rock ballads to the Swan theme he had practiced for so long.

Everything had been fine until he had noticed her watching. And until he had had begun to sing.

She remembered turning to Jan sitting next to her in alarm but he had stared at Bohun with a stricken expression, his water bottle stuck on the way to his lips.

Bohun’s deep and horribly beautiful voice had sounded through the whole backstage. The way everybody had quieted up was completely ridiculous. Few of the corps girls had actually came closer to better hear the music and Jaszewski, one of the few of his friends that she knew by the name, had looked like he might kiss Bohun any second. The rest hadn’t been much better.

As he had kept singing about eyes holding another and other lyrics she had been desperately trying to forget, his gaze had turned back to Helena, eyes staring into her soul. As if she hadn’t known, hadn't been aware that he had been playing this for her – at her. She had thought this was how people who had witnessed a car accident had felt, seeing something horrible but still unable to look away.

Even Jan had seemed to be slightly shaken by the experience. It didn’t help Bohun had been staring at him as he had sang about slow kissing which was totally not weird at all, although Helena preferred his awkward displays of dominance to actually hurting someone.

“Your version is the best,” Jan sighed, bringing her back from another memory of Bohun embarrassing himself. “Even better than the original,” he smiled at her.

Suddenly Jan’s phone buzzed and Helena’s followed.

“Oh no,” whispered Helena. “Please don’t be schedule change.”

It was. Jan read Jeremi’s extremely impersonal e-mail about their morning class being canceled and replaced with another Nutcracker rehearsal that needed to be rescheduled due to ‘technical reasons’.

“It’s the theater people again, I know it,” added Helena, huffing indignantly. “Why can’t they practice it somewhere else. It’s not like they have to worry how far they are next to each other on stage.” She threw her phone down on the bed and then followed it there, making herself comfortable in between the fake fur pillows.

“Actually, they do. They have to train with the stage set the same we do and need to rehearse who comes up on the stage and when.”

Helena sighed, thinking that for the money theater actors were receiving, they perhaps should learn these things a bit faster, shouldn’t they? She had hoped to skip the morning class to get some sleep because they had a performance night tomorrow.

Jan was still staring into his phone. “Oh and they updated the website. Wonder if I’m there already…”

“They haven’t added you yet?” Helena put her hand under her head, wishing he would look at her.

“Only now!” Jan said cheerfully, sitting next to her and showing her his mugshot on his bio page. He looked a bit strange with the clean shaved face.

“You look so young,” she giggled.

Jan smirked, touching his upper lip with his thumb. “I was lucky during Romeo. After this my mustache is no longer safe.”

“You still look great,” Helena said unconvincingly. Jan kept staring at her blankly until she didn’t start to laugh. “What? I’m honest.”

“… such a bad liar,” Jan shook his head and sunk on the bed next to her, burying his head in the pillows, pretending to be terribly sad.

“Stop it. God! You are still handsome,” Helena shook his shoulder a little, laughing. “Even without the mustache.” Jan finally turned around on his back to smile at her. He really had no business looking like that, staring at her from under his eyelashes with all the hidden promises, coaxing her to come closer and closer...

Helena leaned in a bit, almost close for a kiss but she came to a stop and a mischievous smile appeared on her face. "Which guy from our theater do you think is the most handsome?"

Jan had to swallow, knowing that he could not by any means voice the obvious answer. No matter how much he loathed Bohun, he also possessed two working eyes. Still, the company had quite an abundance of hot guys and Jan pondered over who the was most genuinely attractive to him.

"You are taking it very seriously, aren't you?” Helena in the meanwhile fell on her back next to him, the bed creaking under the weight of both of them.

Jan, who had lost his focus somewhere when she said 'handsome guys', turned his head to her. In that moment a crazy voice in his head decided to add that she didn't mean only dancers and he was immediately seized by horror. And guilt of course.

If he had told himself before that it would be easy to tell Helena about Jeremi, he had been experiencing a very deep delusion. Seeing her face so close to his, leaning on him, trusting him... no. It had to end and soon. Next time he saw Jeremi he would tell him. He hated that he hadn’t been able to tell him when he had been in his office, just brushing around the topic uselessly.

Helena patted his stomach comfortingly. "I was only joking around." She made such a sad face that he had to smile, touched by her being so considerate.

"Oh, don't worry, you just caught me off guard. Hmmm... I guess Bogusław Radziwiłł if I had to chose."

Helena looked as if he slapped her. She bit her lip and nodded with eyes cast downwards, not saying a word. He immediately he knew this information made her heart sink somehow, could almost see the change in her opinion on him. Why though? What other answer did she want?

Maybe putting a real face on the guys Jan liked made her feel self-conscious. Was it that? Sometimes it just didn't go well when they learned, whether because of their own insecurities or petty prejudices or...

"I mean…,” he almost whispered. “If I am completely honest then Bohun but I don't think hearing this will make you happy either."

Helena turned to him in surprise. "Bohun?" After long pause, a smile broke on her face, eyes twinkling as she moved to put her arms around his neck, half resting on his chest. " _Oh_ _Janek,_ ” she kissed him on a cheek to soften the blow. “You have a terrible taste in men. You know that, right?"

Jan started laughing with her, immensely relieved, and for that he laughed even more loudly, kissing her back. He wondered if every talk about his sexuality would be this nerve-wrecking for him and tried to calm down his beating heart.

"I mean... you understand? In a way?"

"Oh I understand you completely," Helena snorted and made a face. Jan had learned to recognize this particular brand of disgust and disapproval as it was a rather unique expression which she reserved only for Bohun.

"I even used to think Radziwiłł was pretty too when I was younger. But he’s a terrible person." Hellena swallowed hard, not really wishing to go into detail about that. She still remembered crying and begging Bohun to calm down, to stop asking her who it was.

Jan frowned. "Did he do something?"

“He loves to manipulate people,” her voice was cold now. “And he gets away with it because his uncle has money everywhere in our theater.”

Jan suddenly looked very uncomfortable and Helena cursed herself, forgetting completely about his father’s company.

“I know your dad is a donor too but that is pretty different, don’t you think? You aren’t held here because of your family money or else you’d be here years ago.”

“I never auditioned before this year because I waited for Jeremi to ask me to come here,” Jan said quietly.

“He never asked before?” Helena frowned. “He must have at least mentioned it then...”

Jan shook his head, avoiding her eyes. “I’m Bohun’s replacement. That’s the only reason why.”

He paused when Helena put her head on his shoulder, hugging his chest with a free hand. She didn't said anything. She didn’t have to.

“Is your dad coming to see you in Nutcracker?” Helena asked hopefully.

Jan stared at the ceiling, the usual warmth of his eyes gone. “I would be surprised if he did.”

“But you are coming home for Christmas?” There was something wrong with the way Jan spoke about his dad and she hoped that he wasn’t cold enough to not spend the holidays with his only son.

“Yeah, obviously,” smiled Jan, making Helena feel terribly relieved. “Just for two or three days, we will visit our aunt and uncle.”

“So you are going to see your cousin? Stanisław?”

“Yes,” Jan smiled. She thought how different he looked when he spoke about his extended family, clearly looking forward seeing them. No sad eyes and longing in his voice. “He has been complaining how boring it is at work since I left-”

He heard a number of voices outside and Helena jumped from the bed to look out from the window.

“Oh no,” she sat back on the bed with hands in her lap, eyes wide with worry. “Why is she home so early?”

“Is that your aunt?” he asked.

Helena’s lips were pursed, face full of misery.

“We can just say hi and then we can go somewhere else or to my place?” He hoped that he wouldn’t be forced to hide in the wardrobe or something like that. Given who Helena’s last boyfriend was, he surely presented a huge improvement.

Helena stared at her hands. “I… I don’t know.”

“We can say I’m just a friend.”

“That’s not it!” she said quickly. “God, let's tell the truth!” She stood up. “Why couldn’t she just stay where she was… she wasn’t supposed to come back till tomorrow,” Helena complained as she reached with her hand to help Jan to stand up and follow her through the door. Jan had to hurry to catch up with her on the stairs. She seemed to be set on getting this over with as quickly as possible.

“Hi!” Helena greeted her aunt who was putting her coat on a hanger. Jan had to make a way for Symeon who was taking her suitcase with loud huffing up the stairs.

“Hello,” aunt greeted her primly and Helena wondered what pissed her off this time. _Was the_ _drive from the airport too long_ _? The plane service lacking? God, there were so many things that could have gone wrong for you when you_ _were_ _an unsatisfiable old..._

Helena didn’t have a chance to finish that train of thought because aunt finally noticed Jan on the stairs.

“Hello,” he smiled pleasantly at her. The image of perfection, thought Helena grimly, convinced it wouldn't help him at all being his charming self here.

“This is Jan, my boyfriend,” she tried to say this as a challenge, daring her to say something.

Her aunt blinked several times, possibly wondering if she had misheard.

“Nice to meet you,” Jan came closer to shake her hand.

Aunt stared at him, brows furrowed. “Boyfriend? I think you are that new boy of Jeremi’s. Where are you from?”

 _So improper_ , thought Jan, but answered in a completely unfazed voice: “Krakow.”

“Oh?” she lifted her eyebrows. “Well, I hope you like it here then. People are so rude, took me ages to get used it.”

“Really?” Jan asked with faked surprise, eyeing Helena to see if she noticed the irony of it. “Where are you from?”

“Ah, you wouldn’t know it,” she waved her hand dismissively. “You will have a dinner with us won’t you? Since you are already a boyfriend,” she smirked and turned to Helena who looked ready to protest.

“It would be a pleasure,” Jan beamed at Kniahini. “I don’t have the chance to dine with real prima ballerinas every day.”

She had to take a pause but then the older woman smirked, giving Jan a once-over again as if to rethink her judgment of him.

“Careful Helena, he might be just using you to meet with me,” she turned to her niece.

It was a very obvious joke but Helena’s face went completely red, visibly swallowing some kind of a remark. Jan took her hand as Kniahini led them into the kitchen.

Most of the dinner passed without any abnormalities, only with Helena shooting Jan apologizing glances from time to time. They talked about the ballet Kniahini was staging in Denmark. Usually, when a choreographer created some ballet, the dancers participating in it were able to teach it in other companies when the choreographer wasn’t available or had been dead for a long time. Then they taught it to another generation and the process repeated.

“You do not want it to be re-created just from the notes. It was so much harder when we danced, you young people have no idea with your flat screens and video cameras.”

“So you and Jeremi worked with each other?” Jan asked, although he knew the answer already.

“Yes, I trained some of the girls that were in his academy. We passed each other our students often, I liked what he did with the school. And he was always interested in Helena here because of her father.”

Jan turned to Helena, smiling. “I have heard your father had been in orchestra. From Muchowiecki.”

She opened her mouth to respond but Kniahini was faster.

“Yes, both of them were. Her father and my husband.” She took a sip from her glass of wine. “They are both dead now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jan said, wondering about the off-handed way she had said it.

“We never got along with their side of the family. Wasyl and his wife thought they were too good for us,” she chuckled. The youngest of the cousins, Mikołaj, smirked into his plate.

Helena was eating in silence, avoiding Jan’s eyes. He felt that he was no longer hungry, the food in his mouth tasting like ashes.

He ran his thumb over his upper lip, frowning. “But I thought Wasyl here was named after Halszka’s father?”

Kniahini’s eyes darted towards Wasyl in alarm but he kept acting as if none of them were there, eating quietly his food, his long hair falling into his eyes. She put her fork down, turning to Jan with nose stuck in the air.

“Yes, my husband would have done anything for his older brother,” she said coldly. “Even taking care of his child while he wallowed in himself for half a year. Konstantin had to beg him to get a grip while I had to take care of my own three children and another infant that wasn’t even mine.”

Jan was so shocked that he for a second didn’t even know what to say. Helena stopped eating, sitting stiffly on her chair and staring into her plate. It was impossible now to pretend she was somewhere else, letting her aunt’s words in with one ear and out through the other as she usually did. Not with Jan next to her, witnessing it all.

"And Kosta was ecstatic when he finally convinced him to try for a job. And then I found out it’s in Munich?! Out of all places! So of course we would have been stuck with her anyway. Even if he didn’t die in the car crash.” Kniahini’s mouth curled in disgust. “I still wonder if he didn’t do it it on purpose, not caring if he killed a few people in the process, just to get rid of the responsibility."

"How can you speak like that about her father?!” Jan's voice was seemingly calm but cut through the air in the room like a sharp knife. “While she is right there," he said coldly and turned to Helena who looked at him with wide eyes, mouth open.

"What kind of people are you to just watch this and say nothing?" he asked the cousins staring at him wordlessly.

Mikolaj rolled his eyes, snorting as if he couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Symeon just returned the frown. Kniahini, however, was livid.

"How dare you lecture us in our own house?!"

"Your house?" Jan laughed, cold amusement in his eyes. "You surely don't mean this one?"

Confusion flashed on Kniahini's face but then she nearly spat at Helena, voice full of outrage.

"Oh, don't tell me you already cried to this little boy of yours how bad and mean we are because we live in a house you came into by doing nothing! After taking care of you and raising you! Not to mention teaching you for free all of my life!” she sneered. “But I guess that doesn't count since our little princess decided she wants the big house all for herself!” Kniahini laughed.”So when I allow her to let her boyfriend nearly live here with us when she is barely an adult, then I'm in fact just a cruel person taking her own home!"

"And that gives you the right to talk to her like she isn’t here?” Jan had to literally force himself to not raise his voice. “What does she need to do to be treated like a family when she lives here with all of you?" He did not wait for an answer as he didn’t particularly care for one. "If I were her, I'd already have two lawyers and would be recommending you to start looking for a place for yourself.”

Kniahini laughed. "You are ridiculous and naive."

"I'm naive?” Jan answered sharply. “If I call my father, he will get us three lawyers and in two months you are out of here. He can certainly afford it."

"Jan stop it!" Helena said, looking horrified. "I don't want the house! I don't want this! Just please let it all go."

Jan saw the pain in her eyes and knew he didn’t make the situation any better but he couldn’t… he couldn’t just watch them to do this. To see that it was so normal for them to talk about her this way. In front of a person they barely knew.

"Yes, let it go and then get out of our house!” Kniahini smiled with steal in her eyes. “Oh pardon me, Helena's house.”

Jan sat at the table, unmoving, while Helena's cousins glared at him with open hostility, eyeing their mother every few seconds.

"Don't make us help you," said Symeon finally with a glare but Kniahini put a hand on his shoulder and lifted her chin towards Wasyl. He was quietly sitting at the end of the table, no longer eating and staring somewhere ahead as if towards the faces of people that weren’t there.

Helena reached for Jan’s arm under the table. When he saw the desperation in her eyes, he decided it really was a time to leave.

"Thank you for the dinner,” he said coolly. “Unfortunately I cannot say that I was glad to meet you."

He stood up and left the dining room, hearing another chair scramble on the floor soon after. When he reached the hall, Helena caught up to him.

“I’m gonna see you out,” she said quietly, standing there in the hall with her hands folded over her chest as he put on his shoes. Jan didn’t regret anything he said, knew he did what any person in their right mind should do. But he hoped that he didn’t get Helena into much trouble or that she wasn’t mad at him for speaking up.

When they got outside, Helena burst out: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to hear all of that.”

Jan’s eyes widened but he made a step towards her, brushing hair from her face. “Halszka, don’t apologize for them.”

She bit her lip and her eyes welled up with tears. She blinked a few times to get rid of them, letting Jan stroke her hair and hug her gently.

"This is not normal.. That you live like this. I had no idea it was so bad,” he whispered to the top of her head. Jan felt Helena squeeze him harder and something in him just… came undone after that. He wanted to take her away from here and never return. He could not stand it, couldn’t think of her being treated like this, of her returning back to them and let her be subjected to that drivel. Even releasing her from his embrace was hard.

“Come live with me,” he said and Helena looked up at him, her heart beating frantically in her chest.

“No obligations,” he added quickly. “I could put up something in the office room so… if you wanted your own room.” Helena looked like she might now finally start to cry for real but she smiled instead with a trembling lip and reached with her hand to stroke Jan’s face.

“Janek…”

“We can go now or you can let it go through your head and come later but seriously… I cannot with good conscience just leave you here! That woman is fucking vile."

Helena had so many excuses on her tongue but at this point she had enough trouble stopping herself from crying, so she just buried her face into Jan’s chest, thinking of the possibility, of him waiting for her somewhere, having a place to run away to.

She had a place like that once.

She thought of Bohun, always smiling pleasantly at her aunt, distracting her whenever she got carried away while having a go at her but still too desperate to gain her favor despite all of that. He even got the strange idea aunt liked him, no matter how much Helena had tried to break that delusion of his.

Bohun had disliked how aunt talked to her, Helena knew that, saw the twitch in his eye when she was taking it too far.

Yet it was so strange that he couldn't hold his temper when guys hit on her but when aunt spoke to Helena like this he never dared tell her off. Even now Helena felt the bitterness, for him not wanting to lose friendship with her cousins, for wanting to be welcomed in this house more than truly standing up for her.

And Jan had just walked in there and straight up told them they should move out. And now he was offering her to move in with him? Before even knowing her properly, not wanting anything?

To think of returning home somewhere where she could relax, where she would always feel pleasant. Where she would be wanted… Where she would be with Jan….

It was enough for Helena to actually consider it.

She couldn't leave though. This was still her home, no matter how many bad memories she had of it. Her aunt trained her and she was right, she would never get such a good training for free. Helena knew she poured all her energy into her career. Even if she did it to live out her dreams through her, deep down Helena thought her aunt in some damaged way cared for her and didn't wish anything bad to happen to her.

And if that was a lie she told herself to survive being there with them then so be it. Symeon’s cold indifference, Mikolaj's open jealousy and mild hatred she could live without. But she would miss Wasyl, whom she loved like her own brother, him being the only one who had listened to her blabbering when she had been a kid and who openly looked for her company.

Helena was thinking of the day it happened. She had been hiding from everybody in uncle’s and aunt’s bedroom, her back pressed against the sofa in the corner as she had sat on the floor for what must have been hours.

The door had swung open and her aunt had walked in, angry from the first look at her. “There you are!” she had went straight to her, grabbing Helena by the shoulder and lifting her up from the floor like a rag doll.

“I have to take care of everything but you… you are holing yourself up here, making everybody look for you when...”

“Where is he?” Helena had cried out suddenly, wringing herself out of her hands. “Where is uncle! Where is he? WHERE IS HE!?” She had remembered crying and screaming at her aunt for only God knew how long, all her attempts to get her to calm down futile. Helena had no memory of what she had thought during that time only that she had never been so afraid in her life before.

She had expected aunt to hit her and had shut her eyes tightly when she had finally cornered her, exhausted and crouched in the corner. But she had sat next to her instead and had pulled her into an embrace, the first and the least non-awkward hug she ever got from her.

Helena had remembered that when they had parted, aunt had been looking at her with eyes full of tears, telling her that uncle _Kosta_ was gone and that she was sorry, so sorry for everything. She had been apologizing to Helena. She got that even at that age and through all the grief.

And Helena had accepted her apology, she had no other choice. Aunt had begun training her with the same efficiency she had trained Wasyl and she had gotten the attention she had always wanted from her and in time even grueling respect when she had managed to learn absolutely everything aunt had thrown at her.

Wasyl, despite his harsh exterior, was a way more sensitive child than Helena who had to develop an elephant skin at age six. Aunt made sure of that. She had never sugar-coated how the ballet world worked, no, she had made it sound almost monstrous, dancing itself the only ray of light in between filth that polluted big companies. All of her stories from Bolshoi theater a bitter cautionary tale. About threats of her director forcing to weigh her, the possibility of being cast out for being too thin or too fat. Letting Helena know exactly how ballet masters and directors treated their ballerinas in private.

After a whole year into working full-time in the company Helena had realized she would really have to search for someone to treat her the way her aunt did. It had been a big revelation to her, perhaps the biggest one she ever have had.

She soon started to dream about going to Russia. Try to last there more than a year. To prove that she was strong, that she could handle more than her aunt would ever dream of. She had learned to speak in a questionable mix of Russian and Ukrainian that would be just enough to survive there. Had looked at the cost of tickets and kept up with the audition dates of all the major dance companies.

She had told herself she would wait until the next season… until next promotion until… someday. Helena had shared her secret only with Bohun who promised to go with her without batting an eye, back when she hadn’t been even sure that he was deadly serious. The more he got involved, the more Helena had felt their relationship was crumbling.

He didn't just wanted to leave. Bohun wanted to escape Poland.

She had no idea what he was running from and sometimes during the night when she couldn’t sleep Helena wondered if it hadn't been from her.

Helena stayed next to the house gate long after Jan left, missing him from the moment his car disappeared on the road. She already knew that what she felt was not just a temporary rush of euphoria, she felt like this all the time when she thought about him and it took air from her lungs and made her heart beat frantically in her chest.

She looked at her phone and found Jan’s number easily, her hand shaking slightly when she put it to her ear. Helena didn’t have to wait much, she knew exactly how long the drive took and expected him to be home already.

“Hey? Is something the matter? Did you change your mind?”

She got so used to the sound of his voice, hearing it even when he wasn’t around, thinking about what he would say as she went about her day.

“No. I just wanted to say something before I forget,” Helena had no idea what she was currently saying, focusing way more on what she wanted to tell him afterwards.

Jan sat on his bed quietly, waiting for her to speak.

And when she finally did, he wished for nothing more than to jump into his car and drive all the way back.

 


	12. Pan Wołodyjowski

  


He watched Helena make a face as he let her down, knowing he didn’t grab her the way he had wanted, too late for her jump that came a tad earlier than it should. She slid from his grasp and pointedly avoided his eyes, as she usually did when they got too close.

And they got close very often. In the piece she had created there were many parts when they came together, sequences of dancing meaning to represent the ideal version of a relationship. But it was pointedly not a romantic piece, originally a song about a girl asking her boyfriend to stop telling her how to live her life.

Bohun knew that he wouldn’t had consented to this choreography if there could be implications that the song was about him. But already in the beginning of their practice they made the message more universal, now applicable to both genders. He still liked the part about freedom the most, giving both of them time to shine alone and then come together. He would not protest if Helena didn’t give him much opportunity to show off his skill, the festival was before anything else an opportunity for her to shine as a future choreograph and he would support her no matter what.

But he was surprised when he found out they had almost equally interesting moves, impressed by the way his part had been crafted to highlight his strengths. And of course terribly touched by the way Helena reversed their positions for his jumps so he would be landing on his uninjured left foot.

Was this not love? Every time he thought about it he wanted to keep her in his arms forever, press her towards his body and tell her that he would never love anybody the way he loved her, that his life would never be his again until her last breath.

Helena jumped into his arms right on time and he held her firmly as she spread her legs in the air. She hooked one leg behind him and safely slid down his chest to the ground. Her face was flushed, both of them breathing hard as they looked into each other’s eyes. But she slipped from his embrace quickly enough, leaving him standing there empty, staring at his own reflection.

“ _Look at her not in the mirror, Bohun! Or do you want to pursue a modeling career? Since you like the sight of yourself so much!”_

 _Fuck off_ , thought Bohun sourly when he looked away. As if he have had any other choice back then, suddenly being coldly ignored in all of Jeremi’s classes, only getting corrections as an opportunity be completely torn down in front of everybody.

It was time to call it quits. His arms and back were exhausted and aching. Helena began to untie her shoes on the floor, examining her bruised toes grimly.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I think so. I thought I broke a nail but I didn’t.” She looked up at him. “You?”

“Oh you know me,” he smiled, thinking of the pills in his bag. “I’m not really challenging myself unless I have something broken.”

Helena shook her head in disbelief but could not stop herself from smiling a little, wiping her mouth with her palm to hide it. Bohun’s chest rose and a smile of his own made a home on his face.

“Next time we train at the school?” He couldn’t really do all the jumps here in Rozlogi and there was a real danger of slamming Helena’s head into the ceiling during one of the lifts. They used Kniahini's school building last year and he rightfully expected her to be difficult about this, given they completely excluded her from their work.

Helena swallowed and took her shoes from the floor while standing up. “Yeah, I still haven’t got the exact time because she doesn’t want to tell me but it’s going to be in the evening. Sorry about that.”

“Ey, that’s no problem,” he waved with his hand. He took of his T-shirt and began wiping himself with a towel. She didn’t burst out of the room like the last time they trained so he took his time finding the clean T-shirt, checking if Helena was watching him.

She stared into her phone instead, making the corners of Bohun’s mouth turn downwards in disappointment. He wondered how he could get her attention.

Well, since Skrzetuski was her favorite topic as of recently, she would definitely want to hear some new information about him. He tried to say it in the most disinterest, non-nonchalant way:

"So did you know Skrzetuski swings both ways?"

She froze and then spun towards him faster than when doing a pirouette. "What the hell?!"

"Yeah, he slept with men,” Bohun continued, happy to get her attention so quickly. “One of the guys who used to dance with him in Krakow told me. I just thought of letting you know because…," he left it unfinished, hopeful that she would get the point.

"Because of what," Helena said through gritted teeth, brows furrowed.

"You knew?" Bohun blinked in surprise, feeling as if the ground was shaking under his legs.

"Yes, I knew,” she put her hands on her hips. “He’s my boyfriend – he tells me things!"

 _My boyfriend._ Bohun wanted to hit something. But there was another part of what she had said that made him pause.

"Wait… and you don't mind?" He turned his head to the side. Not even in his wildest dreams he would have imagined the conversation would unfold this way. Did she understand what he was saying to her?

Putting her chin up, she asked coldly: "Why would I?"

"Well..." He now stared at a point in the floor. "Because..."

 _Because_ _of how sheltered you are?_ _B_ _ecause you go to church every Sunday and hear the drivel?_ _Be_ _cause you might think he is not good enough_ _for you? Because you might think_ _that he is weak?_ There were thousands of reasons! Bohun himself could act out many nice little scenarios how he imagined Helena would react when told something like that.

"You really are set to destroy everything good I ever thought about you, aren't you? What about Horpyna, that's okay then? But with a guy it suddenly bothers you?"

“I thought it would bother you!” he protested.

Helene felt herself getting angry just from him daring to look even more confused and lost.

"Do you really think I'm like that? That I would be disgusted by Jan liking guys? You know what, Bohun?" She said his name in hope that he would finally look into her eyes but that was a lost battle. Bohun’s eyes were unfocused, staring from the window into the garden as if he could find the answers there.

"I knew you could be a lot of things but to pull this after being surrounded by gay people all your life. I really wouldn't expect you to reach so low.“

"You are really okay with it?" he repeated in a tight voice, not really hearing anything she just said.

"Yes, I'm okay with it!” Helena made a step toward him, clutching her shoes to her chest. “You can continue being creepy and dig in Jan's business all you want but there's is nothing for you to find that would make me break up with him!"

Bohun told himself weakly that they would see about that but then he ended up standing in the ballroom speechless as Helena swiftly left, grabbing her towel and phone while glaring at him.

-

Horpyna had found the whole thing hilarious.

“I did not expect this from her. I really didn’t! She must really like him...”

They entered the huge ballroom together, already half filled with people. Someone’s shoes made a squeaking noise on the floor and a the sound of a violinist warming themselves up occasionally overshadowed the chatting voices.

“Why don’t you shut up,” Bohun said through his teeth.

“You know...I always told you that you should tell her.”

“Shut up!” Bohun’s eyes darted towards the people closest to them and he noticed with disgust a few familiar faces. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that dancing lessons would be attended by ballet dancers but he still frowned at Wierzsul, standing there with his girlfriend and staring at him as if he just grew another head.

“I told you to not bring it up again.”

Horpyna’s green eyes were so wide they looked like they might nearly fall out of their sockets. She was practically growling: “And I told you it’s really really fucking stupid for you to pretend – in front of me out of all people...”

“I am not pretending! I don’t like men! I fucking hate them!” Bohun turned on his heel and went straight for the bar. Horpyna caught up to him a minute later, her tight dress not exactly the best thing for a stroll. How was she going to dance in that, he only wondered.

“Look at you! How nice you look...” She giggled and nudged him in the ribs as they waited for their drinks. “Wouldn’t that little dove of yours be jealous to see us here together?”

“I hate you so fucking much,” said Bohun quietly without looking at her. “Shitty friend with the shittiest advice. Aren’t you supposed to be good with women?”

Horpyna’s expression turned sour, yanking the front of her dress up with little discretion. “Well, if you are going to be like this then you should have stayed home.”

“I promised I will go so I’m here,” he put up a more conciliatory tone. “My word’s not smoke.”

Horpyna clearly had her own ideas about the value of his word but wisely kept them to herself which was unusual for her. He turned to see what she had been staring at.

His eyes widened when he saw Helena and Skrzetuski. Helena wore a high-collared slit dress he had never seen on her before and her black hair was running loose down her shoulders. She was always impossibly beautiful, Bohun knew that better than anyone, but now every man in ten meter radius from her got their neck stuck in her direction. He thought about wiping the drool from their mouths with his fists, his heart suddenly beating faster at the mere thought of them thinking they could… that they would…

Felling that he was losing himself, Bohun rather pointed his attention Skrzetuski, whose tailored suit angered him even from afar, seeing that his shirt matched the dark red of Helena’s dress.

What was it about him that she liked so much? In what ways was he better than him? Bohun studied Skrzetuski’s face, the dark eyes he kept fixed on Helena, unfortunately brown and very boring in comparison to Bohun’s own. He watched the mustache stretching above his permanently parted lips, many obscene comments running through his head at the sight, the one wondering if a fly occasionally didn’t end up there being the most mild. He smirked at the stupid side-shave haircut everybody wore these days and scorned when he heard Skrzetuski’s goofy laugh, impossible to listen to with a straight face. He scowled at the square shaped chin that was nearly the complete opposite of Bohun’s own and truly, truly, despised him for his ridiculous height.

So consumed by his loathing, Bohun felt that like he couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from him. He watched Skrzetuski whisper something into Helena’s ear. They both abruptly looked his way, catching him in the act. He frowned, ready to face them, but he was grabbed by the arm by Horpyna.

“I think not,” she said, pulling him away and Bohun letting her. He remembered Helena’s threats and thought of that conversation in Rozlogi, her shouting at him that she would never speak to him again if he did something to her precious _Jan_.

A small young man with mousy hair came in into their view, looking from one side of the ballroom to another with hands on his hips, a pleased smile appearing under his light mustache. He clapped his hands for silence, making all heads turn his way.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen! I’m happy that you decided to join me this evening. My name is Michał Wołodyjowski and -”

A huge applause cutting him mid-sentence rose from the other side of the ballroom, most of it being made by Skrzetuski and few other guys around him that Bohun didn’t pay any attention to, thinking they might be his friends. _Skrz_ _a_ _t_ was the noisiest of them all, whistling and hooting. Helena clapped politely along with them, having completely forgotten their staring contest.

“Thank you, thank you guys!” Wołodyjowski smiled, putting palms up for them to quiet up. “And hello to you too, Jan! I see you are still disturbing lessons. Didn’t grow up at all, did you?”

“Neither did you!” Skrzetuski shouted merrily while a few people snickered.

Michał took their laughter in stride and with a small smirk he lifted his hand for attention.

“Today we were granted with the one-time opportunity to have live music with us,” Wołodyjowski continued with the introduction. “Please, an applause for my friend Andrzej Kmicic and Karol Ranicki of Polish National Orchestra.” The two men waved at them lazily from their chairs in the corner of the ballroom. The younger one seemed terribly familiar but Bohun’s couldn’t really place him.

“That’s not fair,” whined Horpyna, clutching his arm. “I came here because of Borzobohata and not… not that _guy_!”

“I think he’s fine,” grinned Bohun maliciously and Horpyna dropped his arm with disgusted ‘tsk’.

A beautiful sound laden with vibrato echoed in the ballroom, followed after a pause by another violin, joining each other in a duet, building up the speed together.

People started gathering and formed a circle around Wołodyjowski who began walking purposefully inside it. His hips swayed sensually to the rhythm of the music. Suddenly he made a turn which ended with him balancing his left leg on the toe cap of his shoes. His hands flew up sharply, then ran slowly down his neck and body. Someone wolf-whistled.

“Wow. He really is good,” Horpyna whispered and Bohun nodded, not tearing his eyes from the small man who began swaggering around the edge of the circle.

He began to remember his own basic dancing lessons at the academy and even one of his and Helena’s attempts to incorporate something of this into their last year performance. Back then, tango seemed easy, almost trivial in comparison to ballet.

Wołodyjowski went with them over the basics first. He gave out corrections in very specific and easy to understand words that Bohun appreciated, not minding the slightly patronizing tone that crept into his voice when he found someone particularly dense. When after quarter an hour Bohun finally found himself paired with Horpyna, she kept grinning at him, making over the top love-struck faces towards him so his eyes didn’t stray to Skrzetuski and Helena too often. Thankfully they ended up at the other side of the room, hidden by the shoulders of other couples.

Wołodyjowski finally returned to their side of the room, stalking around like a predator, looking for his prey. Bohun already caught him watching them a bit longer than it was polite before and smirked. The only chance this guy had with Horpyna was ending up as her dinner.

“ _Tango Argentino_ ,” came from behind them. Wołodyjowski's voice was like honey and it made hair stand up on Bohun’s neck. “I know that tango isn't a novelty for many of you. But now I present you a challenge. This dance is heavily based on improvising which I've heard ballet dancers aren't encouraged to practice. But since Miss Borzobohata couldn't make it today due to illness, I will be needing a partner. Are there any volunteers? Unless...”

Bohun found himself standing right in front of Wołodyjowski, whose torso as if on cue leaned forward, almost touching Bohun's chest, and then backwards with a buckle of his hips. Bohun gulped, but the man was apparently not done with the display. Not breaking the gaze he sank to the floor right in front of Bohun, with one knee bent forward and the other stretched behind. He straightened himself up just as quickly when the violin dropped an octave, going for the most dramatic effect. Wołodyjowski then licked his lips and smiled, staring at Bohun who had been holding his breath.

“Unless you're all scared?” His eyes gleamed with an unspoken challenge that was without any question directed straight at Bohun.

He looked down at Wołodyjowski, wondering if he was being publicly ridiculed. Bohun got somewhat used to being aggressively hit on by other men years ago but this was a completely new level. Could Skrzetuski be behind this? He tried to ignore the heat pooling in the base of his stomach. With a growl, he stepped forward.

“Don’t be shy. I don’t bite.. much,” Wołodyjowski’s fingers lightly caressed the buttons on Bohun's shirt, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips.

He responded by pressing his chest against him and taking the lead.

If they thought that they could embarrass him with this then he would show them they picked the wrong man. Bohun slid his right hand down Wołodyjowski's neck and rested it on the small of his back, staring deep into his eyes without any shame. His left hand clasped Wołodyjowski's right. It was calloused and bigger than he would have expected but felt good in his own nevertheless. Bohun glided forward, the friction making his heart beat faster. The violins roared with a quick succession of four chords.

Wołodyjowski, not to be outdone, created a space between them and pivoted alternately on his left and right foot, his hips swinging sideways, his mustache twitching in amusement. Despite possessing less than average size and looks, he clearly knew how to move his body for maximum gain. Bohun was glad they weren't dancing ballroom tango like he used to with Helena. Unlike Argentine tango, the ballroom tango favored a closed dance position with only the upper bodies separated. Bohun feared the consequences of Wołodyjowski's hips founding themselves anywhere near his groin.

“Ladies, pay close attention. This is a front _ocho_ , where you make an eight figure on the floor,” Wołodyjowski exclaimed brightly, visibly excited from the attention they were getting.

Bohun gritted his teeth, somehow offended to be this blatantly ignored. He interrupted Wołodyjowski's _ochos_ and parted his legs by sweeping his foot to the side.

“Gentlemen, a _barrida_. A very… playful move,” Wołodyjowski winked at Bohun with wide grin. He returned the smile, flashing his teeth dangerously and spun Wołodyjowski around, his back now held close to Bohun's chest. The tempo of the music quickened. They moved to the side step by step, Wołodyjowski in a complicated manner and Bohun simply leading him.

“ _A doble frente_ ,” Wołodyjowski said, mustache twitching.

The music became more forcefully now, melody escalating. Bohun suddenly found it challenging to keep up with the man, being too aware that despite assuming the male role here he was completely dependent on his partner’s movements. It worked completely the same way in ballet although the way their bodies moved was drastically different and he kept feeling this difference every time he pressed himself towards Wołodyjowski.

Wołodyjowski broke free from Bohun’s embrace with a whirl. He halted a few meters from him. Then they quickly moved towards each other. Just as the music reached its climax, both of them sprang forward. Wołodyjowski ended on him with his right leg hooked around Bohun's thigh, his palms stroking Bohun's heated cheeks. Bohun supported his weight with hands resting on his shoulder blades. They panted heavily as the crowd erupted in cheers and applause.

Just as Wołodyjowski began untangled himself from him, Bohun heard a loud crash.

“That’s enough!” The younger of the two violinists – Kmicic? – was advancing on him, leaving behind a flipped over chair.

“Shit,” Wołodyjowski muttered but didn’t move to do anything as the guy walked through the swarm of people who parted before him like the sea before Moses.

“Out of my way!”

Bohun smiled. Was this some boyfriend of his?

“You..!” The blonde looked furious, angrily jabbing a finger into Bohun's chest.

Bohun quirked his eyebrows, thoroughly unimpressed. He had to remind himself Helena was out there somewhere watching him or he would be wiping the floor with this guy already. He was also almost savagely enjoying this until Skrzetuski’s hand didn’t fall on Kmicic’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you come outside for a while?” he asked calmly but with a certain cold authority that most of the ballroom fell silent. Kmicic didn’t make a sound either, barely managing to tear his raging eyes from Bohun to even register Skrzetuski. Bohun doubted he was more than twenty and he looked even younger, a halo nearly manifesting over his head, when he smiled at Skrzetuski innocently.

“Michał?” Skrzetuski said and Wołodyjowski nodded.

“Thanks for the dance, darling,” Wołodyjowski whispered with a humor in his voice but didn’t really spare Bohun a glance, eyes fixed on Kmicic. Skrzetuski still held him in place, which was probably for the best since he kept shooting Bohun murderous glances.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Wołodyjowski turned to others, completely calm, as if this was a normal occurrence in his class. “Lets take a small break and we will continue practicing the figures we've shown you before.” He made a gesture with his hand towards Kmicic to follow him. “I'll be right back,” he shouted before he exited the ballroom, taking his sweetheart from Skrzetuski’s hands, leading him out of the door.

Skrzetuski gave Bohun an amused look and then he strode back, possibly to return to Helena to be publicly gross with her again (Bohun somehow assumed they didn’t do anything else and had seen enough during their practice to strengthen that belief).

He decided he had enough for the day, feeling he had already demonstrated all of his skills. Horpyna, whose conspiratorial grin was now really making her look like the evil witch she was, agreed that they could ditch the rest of the class and go for drinks instead. The main object of her interest wasn’t even there so it hadn’t been hard to convince her.

In the meanwhile Jan followed Michał to the hall where he caught him still talking with the violinist.

“Oh but I couldn’t! I couldn’t just watch him do that, thinking he can have you! I know it’s wrong but ah… I just can’t help myself when I-”

He was about to say something else but he stopped abruptly when Michał reached out to stroke Kmicic’s shoulder.

"You know I don't mind.” Wołodyjowski's voice was kind and reassuring. “But we have spoken about this before. You need think about what you promised to yourself."

"Yes, yes. Of course.” Then a real anguish swept into his voice. “Shit, I'm so sorry."

"Oh you will feel sorry soon enough," Michał said, the grip on Kmicic’s hand visibly tightening for a moment. Jan’s jaw dropped.

Kmicic stared at Michał with a heavy look in his eyes, swallowing hard. But then, as if awaken from a dream, he began nodding frantically. "Yes. Yes I will. Should I wait for you like usual?"

"Sure. Be a good boy and call Anusia about the pay.”

“I said I would do it for fr-”

“Do it now so you don’t forget,” Michał interrupted him without much as a blink. “And no sweet-talking with her or I will hear about it."

"Yes, yes, I'm going," he strode off with a flush on his face, looking way too happy for someone who just had been scolded.

Michał turned to Jan awkwardly standing in the door who suddenly didn’t know what to do with his eyes.

"Is that... was that…?"

Michał took pity on him. “Yeah that was him, the guy I’m seeing. I didn’t notice you there or I would have introduced you. But I guess we will have time after the lesson is over. Which will be soon, given how much time we lost with this. Jan are you okay? You look like you might faint.”

“Me? I’m fine!” protested Jan, hoping his face didn’t betray too much. “Funny you say that, I wanted to show you to Helena.” He turned back to the ballroom where also Bohun was with worry. “Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

“Oh right!” Michał’s face visibly brightened.

Jan gave him a sly smile. “But no sweet-talking.” He lifted his eyebrows, putting more authority into his voice. “Or else I will hear about it.”

Michał gave him an unimpressed look and then grinned, patting his shoulder mock-kindly. “Don’t embarrass yourself, _Janek_.”

It was ironic that Michał had said that because from the moment he saw Helena up close he could barely let out a few words.

-

Helena was sitting on Jan’s coach, controller lifted high in her hand as she went through the movies.

She paused at one item in the library. “Swan Lake? Really?”

“I’ve actually never seen it,” Jan explained. Sometimes the greatest joy when it came to movies was to see a really bad one so you could endlessly complain about it. His friends in Krakow absolutely loathed it, if they could be convinced to watch it all, so Jan’s hopes were particularly high.

“I fell asleep after the first fifteen minutes or something.”

Truth to be told, Helena fell asleep after the first fifteen minutes of any movie.

“Not that then,” Jan smiled.

“Here, I’m leaving it to you,” she put the controlled into his hand and pulled out her phone.

After that night in Rozłogi, everything changed. Gone were all the pretenses, the least kind of uncertainty, it all dissipated and left only Helena’s voice ringing in his ears, soft and brave, saying the only words he ever wanted to hear. He thought how he had repeated them last night, whispering them into her hair as he had felt her heart beat next to his own.

Yesterday, Jan had told her once again she didn’t have to come back home again but immediately saw what a mistake it had been. Even the slightest push into the direction she didn’t want to go had only hardened her resolution to stay there. It made him feel frustrated and helpless but he knew to not ask anymore.

Helena made a surprised noise and turned to him. “You wouldn’t believe what she just wrote me!”

“Who?”

“Olenka!”

Jan looked over her shoulder to see what was she talking about.

H: Your ex tried to kill my ex yesterday at a tango class

O: Is Bohun ok?

Jan threw his head back and laughed. His shoulders still shook when he turned to Helena:

“I like her.”

“Me too,” she said and rolled her eyes at the text. “But I wish both of you took Bohun a little bit more seriously.”

“Yeah he is certainly not making it easy. Yesterday was truly something.” He shook his head. “I suppose you didn’t know Bohun isn’t straight?”

“What?” Helena said after a second, still too focused on typing out her answer. She looked up, eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean… you saw it too. With Michał?”

“I don’t know? They danced?” Helena frowned. “Just because two men dance together, it doesn’t mean…” She thought of the way Bohun had stared down at Michał, something dark but terribly familiar in his eyes.

“I may be wrong,” Jan shrugged and Helena gave him a look, as if she knew he thought that he was anything but.

“Bohun’s not gay.” She lifted her eyebrows. “ _I_ of all people would have known.”

Jan found he didn’t like the deep conviction with which she said it at all.

“He could be like me,” he protested.

“Oh, I doubt it.” She avoided his eyes when she continued. “Two weeks ago he came to me and started going on about how you slept with men, obviously in hopes that I would break up with you over it. I haven’t told you because…, “she swallowed. “I thought you might be angry and try to talk to him.”

Jan’s eyes widened. “Really interesting that he knows that.”

He thought of Jaszewski and scratched his head thoughtfully. They had been avoiding each other since he came here but he noticed him hanging around Bohun a lot. If he learned it from someone, it had to be him.

“He’s a real hypocrite. I just don’t get it! His best friend is a lesbian! He even went to Gay Pride with her last year! And he used to go drinking with Zagłoba all the time!”

“He went to what?!” Jan’s voice jumped high in disbelief. He couldn’t do anything else than to repeat what she had said. “And his best friend is a lesbian?”

“Yeah, I mean at least she says she is,” Helena made a face as if she somehow doubted it. “It’s the girl he was with at tango. He lives with her. They had been in the same foster home as kids.”

“Halszka…,” Jan’s throat shook as a laugh tried to escape it. “I don’t know what is the nicest way to tell you this...”

“Oh please,” she shook her head.

“Didn’t you say he liked Nureyev?” Jan was now grinning.

“You are reaching.”

“Come to think of it he has a pretty good fashion sense too.”

“Oh stop it.”

“Not to mention he does ballet. Like hello?”

She was shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Jan’s laughter died when he heard his phone ringing on the table. He reached for it and his hand nearly froze when he saw the name that appeared on the screen.

“It’s Jeremi.”

This was not really the time.

He lifted himself up from the sofa, Helena’s hand falling from his shoulder as he did so. He sleepwalked into the hall and closed the door behind himself, already knowing what he was going to be asked.

"I can't come. I'm with my girlfriend.” Jan tried to sound calm and assured but his voice caught in his throat towards the end.

The silence that followed was deafening. Jan stared at the white wall, thinking Jeremi surely would respond any second, be it by screaming or by withdrawal, hell even hanging up on him would be preferable to this uncertainty.

"I see," he said after a long pause. His voice was so cold Jan felt his eyes sting.

"You know I...," he started stuttering. "Maybe I could..."

"No, it's fine. I understand you have ah... other responsibilities. You are a grown man now after all." He heard a derisive laugh, as if what they had together resulted only from Jan being young and wanting to experiment, now leaving him for the right things, abandoning Jeremi after he had his fun.

Jan couldn't bear that thought. He couldn't do it to him, not like this.

"No, I want to come!" He put a hand on his forehead. It came off damp. "I just... please..." He only needed to see him once again in private, to explain it all to him. That he wasn’t abandoning him. "I want to come." His heart beat frantically with horror at what he was losing, what was slipping through his fingers. "Tell me to come and I will be there."

There was a pause and when Jeremi spoke again, he regained his usual standoffish tone. "I won't order you to do something you do not want to do. You are being ridiculous now.” A loud sight came from the other end of the line.

"But I want to! I want to come! What...what would I have done to hear from you when… when..."

Hearing desperation in his own voice, Jan couldn't lie to himself. He wished to go from the moment he saw his name on the screen, wanted to feel Jeremi's hands and his mouth on his body, making him his, proving to him that he loves him once again, that Jan was the only person that could reach towards him, who could get through the walls Jeremi built around himself over the years. The only one who deserved his love.

"If you only could hear yourself...” Jane could almost see the way Jeremi’s eyes would narrow, his disdain rolling over him like a cold shower. “I told you to get a grip on your emotions. You either want something or you don't. You cannot be changing it every few seconds."

Jan rubbed his face with his palm frantically, trying to come up with something to his defense. There was no good way out of this, no good choice to make. He would either abandon the only person that cared about him since he was a child or… or… No, he just couldn’t do that now.

"Please let me come,” he whispered. His voice was weak and his tone came close to begging. “I really wish to go. I just felt bad after… after I promised something else but I could… I will find a way to explain it to her. I didn't mean to-"

“I think the first decision is usually the right one."

 _And what if it was?_ Jan thought with anger rising in his chest, feeling humiliated to go through this again. What if _he_ hung up on Jeremi? But fear overwhelmed him just at the thought and when he spoke again, in a steadier voice, he hoped Jeremi would see that he calmed down and would be willing to talk with him normally again.

"Maybe you are right,” he took a large breath. “Maybe I don't know what I want. But I really want to see you so if you want me there, say so, and I will be there. You decide." The moment he gave the power to someone else, all tension fell from his shoulders. Jeremi made him wait a bit but Jan was confident now. He knew his teacher well.

"Spend some time with your girl and come later. It would be rude to leave now."

The moment Jan put the phone down he knew he made a mistake. He stood there in the hallway, unable to move in any direction.

He and Helena were together. There was no other way to call it. And he loved the fact they were together! Jan was happy that their relationship already reached the point when they were so used and comfortable with each other, that he could honestly see some future with her that didn’t stretch only for the few next months and weeks.

So it was absolutely fucking wrong to get up and just go to Jeremi whenever he got in the mood for him.

There were forces warring inside Jan but the part that was his consciousness had been winning. How would he be able to face her after that? She... Jan's heart ached from the way she looked at him, trusting him, expecting only good things from him and Jan would sooner die than to hurt her but this...

He couldn't go on with this. The moment Jeremi called he had completely lost his mind. He nearly had forgotten she existed, not really but only as some abstract concept in his head, his heart in the meanwhile pumping blood frantically into his body, washing away everything but the sound of Jeremi’s voice in his ear.

The right thing to do now would be to turn around, go sit with Helena and tell her everything. That he and Jeremi had this thing between each other, but that it would end now because he cared about her and knew she wouldn't want him to... to...

The images of what awaited him on the third floor behind the wine red curtains of Jeremi's apartment crept their way into his imagination.

How he was lying to himself that he didn't want this.

But what he had with Helena was better. It had to be. Jan knew that he could go to her whether he was happy, or sad, or tired and he didn't have to worry how he will please her because this girl loved almost everything he did. Being with her was easy. It was right.

It was nothing like the bliss when Jeremi praised him, which could send him thousand kilometers up in the air. It was not the sex. God, if it was just the sex, it would be easy to leave. But for the words he whispered to him during that... Jan would readily die to hear them again, lay his body on the cold floor for days if he knew Jeremi would one day come to pick him up.

How only with him his behavior wasn't some part of a performance, how Jeremi knew him from inside out, knew exactly what he was, and would take it all with a covetous smile.

He never felt so loved in his life than when he was with him. That was the truth and that was also the reason why he was now turning to Helena to tell her he was going to see Jeremi about some new choreography idea he had, which he – like the true crazy artist he was – needed to execute immediately. And who else to help him with that than his favorite student?

Helena at first looked clearly disappointed but then she smiled, and God, Jan wanted to cry.

"You must be glad that he trusts you enough for you too see it first. " It sounded so wistful and Jan wanted to tell her that the moment she starts getting more principal roles the offers would start raining on her head. That she didn’t need to constantly chase her aunt’s shadow when she had so much to offer outside of it.

"So it's fine with you? I'm not happy to cut our time like this -" The worst part being that he wasn’t even lying.

It felt nearly perverse to try to get her approval, knowing too well that she would never dream of giving it if she knew what he was really going to do.

If she said 'no, stay here' he would do it. He would do it in a second and without another thought. But of course she was not like that, she would never force him to do anything and Jan wanted to weep. Because she didn’t know and he couldn’t tell her.

"I'm sad you have to go but I'm not mad,” Helena watched Jan with worry. He grew terribly pale, as if he was afraid of her, as if he expected her to be upset with him. “I know you have your own life. I don't want you to sacrifice it for me. And we will have plenty of time next weekend." She kissed him on a cheek.

Jan had thought telling her would be painful. This was worse. She should be angry. She should shout at him. He deserved it!

This would be the last time. He knew that he would tell Jeremi afterwards. They couldn’t see each other like that anymore.

“You are the kindest person I have ever met,” he whispered and she smiled at him, cheeks red. “I love you. I really love you.”

“I love you too,” she said to him and not for the first time, he felt as if the wings on his back were real.

-

Jan left.

  
  



End file.
